On New Year’s day, I walked into a cloud that settled on the neighbor’s field, now cleared of corn. I could not gaze to the silver grain bins, like unlabeled soup cans in the distance. A few days earlier sun-risen-light bathed this field in pink. Nope, I could see no further than a drape of white. I had just read an article about dementia illustrated with images of fog. As a person with mild cognitive impairment, I might say, maybe so.
Good prose, Katie. Wonderful in places, like the fog. The fog is reality. Our visions usually delusions unless given by God, huh? And yet we chase our dreams and miss so much real life, don’t we? But thank God that He wastes none of it.
Good prose, Katie. Wonderful in places, like the fog. The fog is reality. Our visions usually delusions unless given by God, huh? And yet we chase our dreams and miss so much real life, don’t we? But thank God that He wastes none of it.