A WHOLE LOT OF NOTHING DISGUISED AS PHILOSOPHY

Fog is so wet. It’s white and woolly water, floating around, out of its element. Filtered translucency envelopes everything. There is only white coming down from above, a smothered angel. Glaucoma of the skies. I am out of practice. While sick, I had no desire to write, and now that I do, there doesn’t seem to be any easy flow from my mind to the screen. One thing I’m always telling myself, my children, my friends is to just do it. Waiting for the time to be right for something will leave you waiting forever. When one of my kids...