Monday, September 18, 2006


Walking through what would be considered nothing more than an envelope of fog everywhere. Directions taken would point to the same scenery, the dreaded cloud of which even the sky cannot be seen. Throughout this evening, as in every evening, walks would be considerably difficult, as after a few steps off the safety of the enclosure, nothing can be seen, even the hand in front of the face.
But in the morning, like all mornings, with the sun up to its peak time, the pathway does emerge, and the entire scenery majestic boasts its finest colors, even for the merest few hours. Trees seem friendlier at these times, as does all the botanical and animated species. These are the few hours looked forward for.
How was it possible for pathways to disappear? All the friendlier noises an hour ago suddenly raises doubts about the true disposition of the fauna on the fields as noises now brings an intense heartbeat. Trees of majesty and grandeur are now left to intimidate, if ever seen, with any luck.
How could memory fail to recognize the same pathway that did exist an hour ago? This same pathway did not change, could not have changed, and should not have changed, in the shortest course of time, yet, only a finger counted amount of steps can be taken before getting lost, which would be substantially before the gate.
And it has not turned day yet, for the longest time. Day has not shown itself in here, until the gate, until the field. Daylight only appears beyond the field, and will only stay there. Or so it was believed.
Would it be understood that there is a good chance of foliage overdeveloping in this residence? Has it been so long that it just got darker? With the dreaded fog staying around the residence since time has decided to exist out of amusement? Would it be a curse to be indeed stuck here, with the assumed thought that this is the only secure place to be in, inside, trapped underneath all the foliage and fog, the darkness and obscurity that surround the entire small field and abode.
It was now mere memory, if ever remembered, was the day ever seen, or even the clearest and starry night, of whose light did help pave the way through countless fields for curious travelers and merchants. Light is now left to the nearest fireplace, the only source of immovable light.
But once in a while a traveler comes in, clear and distinct is his memory of what is outside that it does seem foolish to ask him to describe what is really normal. To which the rest of them have already taken for granted. But to be in the dark, stories of light and panoramic majesty raises hopes and amusement of the outside.
Could the traveler be trusted? Would it indeed be safe outside the confines of the abode? To whose name does his trust vouch to, if that being was not met in the first place? How would it be known that such a person does exist, with the famed reputation, to insist that this traveler could be trusted in his description of the outside, and the promise to be a guide?
And so in a quagmire it would be is the current situation, inside the curse of the abode, as the slight obscurity outside prevents further access to the outside. While it has been more obscure to stay inside all along.

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