The Fog

The fog moves in. It comes in the night, somewhere between sleeping and waking it slips into the consciousness of the forest. The animals hear it come. They see it in their sleep, lumbering toward them in the dark. The rabbit looks to see if it is real. Yes, he tells his family, the fog is really here.

In the morning the animals come out. They look around and see the darkness. They are hemmed in by the mystery, unable to grasp the images of the real things around them. They look around and all they see is white. A vast whiteness spreading like a net to capture them. A darker shape looms up and they rush toward it, willing it to come into the light, but it fades as they reach it. It was only an illusion, a vision teasing them with hope.

I look down and cannot see my trunk. The fog has covered it and there is nothing. I feel the animals moving at my base, but I cannot see them. I call out directions to them in this invisible world, but they stumble along, unable to see without the sun.

I look up.

Somewhere up there the sun waits. He hides behind this cloud and allows it to swallow us. He watches it come from the distance and does nothing to stop it. He brings it nearer, knowing something beautiful will come.

But we cannot see it here. We cannot see the beauty that will be. All we see is now. All we see is nothing. Nothing around us, no one. We are alone and lonely, walking on in this white land, unable to see ourselves, unable to see our thoughts, unable to grasp the intentions we had yesterday. Yesterday was so long ago.

We no longer remember the things that were. The memory of real trees and real streams have vanished. The sight of the moon has darkened. I saw her yesterday, but she is gone. She is gone and her image is fading. We are swallowed.

But the sun has never left us. We have never been alone here in our journey. He has always been watching, always guarding, always a step away in case the fog should prove too much for us. If we were to falter in this battle against the unseen, he would step out and catch us. He would pick us up, put us back on our feet, and place the sword back in our hands. He would whisper into our ears and send us back into the fog, hearts on fire, and watch as we took back lost ground.

The fog never lasts forever. After a season of fighting, after a season of despair, after a season of wondering if it will ever end, the sun comes out in the end. He shows himself and watches as the cloud disappears. He watches our amazement at the sight of the world. He watches the joy spread across our faces as we realize he was there all along. He was there, cheering us on, and picking us up every time we fell down. He was there and now we are rewarded. We are rewarded with the frost that has settles on us. Frost that covers like the snow, but glistens in the light.