“Mystification is simple; clarity is the hardest thing of all.”
—Julian Barnes, Flaubert’s Parrot
Fog is not hard, in any sense, except trying to drive through it along a winding coastal road, perhaps after yoga, a day of letting go.
Fog is itself like letting go, like giving in. A kind of gentle erasure, a forgetting of lines, a loosening of your tight hold on how things are themselves—how they ought to be.
Simply breathing on the window takes the clarity away. Easiest, after all, to breathe . . .
image: Hidden by the fog, Assisi's Basilica,
Umbria
(posted
by Penelope) — with Atina Sahad
Italy Art and Architecture
.jpg)
this is lovely. and your thoughts on it like little lights through the fog.
ReplyDeletei have always loved it. but not driving in it. very tense making.
walking in it is my favorite. like moving in a dream somehow.
and now. i'm going to sit here with my coffee and visit all the posts I've missed. I slept through the whole month of october you know! a bit like rip van winkle here. LOL.
your site will be full of little early presents i'm going to give myself.
and thank you for stopping by and leaving such a lovely message when i was recuperating. xo
oh christie.
ReplyDeletei didn't get far! and already . . .
November 3.
"my obligation is to find that quiet (yet fierce) sort of joy in life."
you take words from my own soul that i haven't heard yet . . . and you speak them out loud.
what a writer you are.
never stop.
well. what am i saying.
you couldn't even if you tried.
now.
will continue on. and i promise no more long comments!!!
or at least no more redundant phrases. lol.