In an attempt to clear my head, I leave my writing perch at midday for a breath of fresh air. As soon as I step outside, I sense something is amiss. There seems to be a lack of sound, but a lack of sound I can touch. It’s a I-am playing-hide-and-seek-and-no-one-is-coming-to find-me kind of sound. Turning the corner, I see the coastline has chosen to roll the fog up like a blanket tucking it in under its cool smooth shale and knobbly periwinkles. All evidence of the great Casco Bay, erased. At first, this is unsettling. I am on a hill, looking downward where the waters edge, the wrack line, should be. The beyond is nonexistent today. The world as I know it, is no longer, and I suppose the worst–a great void.
Being me is a full time job. So, it isn’t long before I imagine I am high on Annapurna, and when the clouds dissipate I imagine I will see jutted rock formations several stories high with ancient monasteries gripping to stay relevant on their precipice. There are prayer flags offering me compassion just on the other side of that cloud-vacuum. I imagine, when the fog clears, I will see the soaring birds which have no name, and I will have to struggle for a full breath of air–all the while wondering if I will come across a hiker clad in bright blue Gortex, or perhaps a Sherpa in a Yak-hide coat and boots.
Barely able to observe my own feet, I have several close calls with neighbors and their dogs instead of hikers and Sherpas. People, normally chatty, whisper their hellos’ and move short-stepping through the cotton-puff hillside. It’s a lot to take in for a midday walk. I decide to wait it out back at my perch, comfortable in the knowledge that something great is beyond. Opening the door to home, I hope someone comes to find me.