A fantastic short story by Stephen King by that name is the first thing to come to mind. I’m not really certain that a two hundred and fifty off pager qualifies as short but that is a different matter. A relatively faithful film rendition was also released, I liked it well enough.
Unfortunately neither of those is the mist I’m speaking of. Which really is too bad because I could go on about mutant spiders and religious zealots at length. Alas…
Despite more than a few claims, no one can see the future. It lies shrouded and impatient in an infinite number of “right nows”. Sometimes the fog seems lighter as you confidently stride onward. Other instances you must feel your way along, hands outstretched and fearful. Sometimes the mist and you are one.
Dew-Point, March 21, 2018.
Fog is thick within tonight
Heavy dense, no chance of sight
Stumbling around try to find
Anything to be less blind
Sad to say you can’t locate
That which makes the mist abate
Even fire can not make gone
Black where sunlight’s never shone
When night emits from inside
Truly nowhere left to hide.
First of all, yes, I easily could have called the thing “The Fog ” and gone on a John Carpenter diatribe but I’ve made my choice. Get it? The Thing? The dog says I’m funny. Though she only speaks Mandarin so I may have mistranslated.
I really like this poem though paradoxically feel as though I’ve done a brutal job attempting to explain the point. Instead, I’m not going to try any further and just be all artistic and what not allowing you to decide among yourselves. So there.
As always, you are all the noblest of mammals and I look forward excitedly to crafting tomorrow’s rhetoric.
A broken mind held together by cellophane and some tack.