Lifting Mist

I woke with my life cloaked in mist. Pneumonia in its last stages of cling. I buttoned up and walked up to the lakes, huffing and puffing, hoping to watch the mist rise over the water and my mood with it. I came late – the mist had lifted. The cats asked to be caressed and Socks too. I made a figure of eight around the two ponds, consciously trying to unwind something, while also inscribing infinity. The surface of the water was already bright, and offering inverted images of the trees and sky. It felt like an image out of the same box as the prospect of lifting mist. Things are not what they may seem. This can become clear. Perhaps the truth is staring us in the face – just upside down. Thank you Plato. Thank you Hegel (verkehrte Welt).