My writing talks when I’m in the car…and lately, my monthly excursions to Portland, to deepen my relationship with yoga, place me in the car a lot. On one of those drives, I was *actually* driving into the fog, over the mountain pass, with these words of the visual and what I was feeling.
Layers on layers of green, all the greens,
and brown and gray touching here, and there.
Some pockets so black and deep,
and wrapped around it all, the fog.
Driving into something,
with purpose;
the shape unknown.
Anticipation, resisting;
now a shift toward release.
Momentary calm.
Calmly into, and through,
the fog.
