Clear Fog

I watched the Atlantic Ocean fog follow me as I drove home from the rheumatologist’s office.  Good news, normal liver enzyme functions on the blood work report.  The vapor had traveled inland, followed me home. And like a good witch, I nestled between the sheets, pillows plumped and adjusted to my joints’ specifications-just so-a relieved exhale buttered my muscles and hazed my mind.

I saw myself sitting in my office.  Not my current home office with the flat screen monitor facing the front yard view of taxis shrubs, holly sapling and ink berry bushes the mocking birds and catbirds delightfully snack upon. 

The other home office with a floor to ceiling wall of glass facing the open waters.  A full view of turquoise, periwinkle sea. 


Cloudless sky frames the upper portion of my picture windows.  My glass desk with chrome has a wireless tablet.  I place my lit cigarette in a clear glass ashtray.  Smoke ringlets form and I type away.  His hand touches my shoulder.  He does that frequently, whoever he is-just gently, ever so gently touches me on the right shoulder from behind.  I heard bells. 

So here I sit on the green couch in the living room looking out of the window viewing the dogwood branches wiggling from wind and rain, writing down the vision of the clear sea, the clear sky and the clear goal.

Oh, I can hardly wait for the next fog that rolls from the Atlantic Ocean, to my home and to my dreams.