Nothing I do makes any difference against this Thursday morning fog. This is the type of fog that presses against the eyes and creates a slight claustrophobia out of physical space. It reduces cars to fuzzy headlamps, trees into strangely dancing sprites that refuse to resolve except back into trees and shrubs when you arrive up close to them, and people into the slightest of ghosts.
A man said to the universe:So the fog slows the pace of life down a bit, forcing us to grudgingly acknowledge our limitations against elements we cannot see through, but it doesn't bring things to a full stop.
“Sir, I exist!"
“However,” replied the universe,
“The fact has not created in me
“A sense of obligation.”
- A Man Said To The Universe, By Stephen Crane
Draw the lines! Assume the crow’s nest, Pip. This shipThis morning's sailing music, though, was all talk.
sails on music and wind, and away with birds.
- from Soundings by Robert Wrigley
Today's full playlist:
- Morning Edition, NPR
- Posted via Hermes.