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...and the fog is low, all around the house. It began obscuring the mountain, just across from the living room window, at about three this afternoon. That window is as close as I've gotten to making contact with the elements since early in the afternoon. By the time that I should have been thinking about getting cleaned up if I was considering making the forty-minute trip to C'Ville, I could no longer see down the driveway. Even now, the usually piercing light that the electric company installed at the last house visible is a diffused orb, with a bare pin-prick of blaze at the center. Marooned... I was going to write "on dry land," but that would be a gross misstatement. At this point, it's more like a "stew." Thick consistency, but with chunks. Not palatable, in the slightest... by any description. Kinda like the basement, right now. But not as smelly. Thank God for Lys0l, or I'd be afraid to light a cigarette. No public appearances, tonight. Or escape. Strange as it may seem, this doesn't really send me into a state of unease, after all. Quite the opposite. So this is what Miss Jane craves, every day. I could last like this for maybe... two days. Tops. Take the outdoors out of the equation, and this would feel more like imprisonment, before long. Fitting. I just got an email from a representative of a books for prisoners program, who's going to produce a spot that airs just before the reggae show. It also turns out, this same person has contact with the attorneys that are looking into the "grooming" ordinance that has a group of inmates in solitary for not cutting off their dreads, the same that fill the mailbox at the station, thanking me for the positive music that keeps them going. So, in some little way, my efforts will help someone else get to cut through the fog, and let in some light. In a positive fashion. |
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