Winter haze

Looking out over 75/85 and a power grid, I can almost pretend it’s August in Atlanta. There is haze masquerading as smog and uncertainty. If it weren’t for the small bits of snow and ice clinging to the shadows, I’d almost believe the mirage.

It’s a universal occurrence, really. The people I talk to are forgetful or unclear of what is going on. My friends are all lulled by their dreams into shadow realities. Keys disappear from their rings. Longtime residents of a city suddenly are lost. I don’t know if the weather is causing it, or if we are harnessing our doubts and releasing them into the stratosphere where they gather north of Atlanta in a grayish, pinkish surreal layer.

Who knows which came first. More importantly, who cares? Seize it. Open your mind wide to the shroud around you and embrace the unknown murky depths, the hidden or erroneously placed thought. Just roll in the fact we know nothing, we forget everything and a cold wind still blows.

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