fog

I got funny looks heading out this morning. Rain poured down, the sky glowered a deep grey, and there I was, wheeling my bike out for my commute. Turning on the lights and heading the hissing wheels out under thick, boiling skies, I wouldn't miss this for the world. Shreds of some low clouds finger the skyline, tasting each building. How sweet is sweet home, Chicago?

A cold wind brushes in from the lake - maybe a interloper from Canada- and soon I'm not just alone out here but awash in a chill cloud. The normal vista breaks down into the chunks which reveal themselves in the orb of each light. Here a lonely trail, here an empty beach, here water still as bathwater. The air is full of this cold water - a mystery.

Love and death - two of the biggest how-to mysteries known to humanity. I'd like to think that, having failed at one, I might well avoid the other. But as the roots in my hair grow I see the dots of silver growing from my head. "Who knows", I tell the mirror, "who knows... You might just fall in love yet."