I don't know if it is a common thing or something only my friends and I pretended, but as a child I often imagined that fog had the power to destroy. not in a scary way, in a wonderful, magical way. if, for example, the fog obscured the school from view, perhaps the school would cease to exist. I knew, of course, that this wasn’t actually possible, but the slight glimmer of hope was still there.
on the news this morning, and on the weather channel website, I was warned of dense fog. this pleased me; I was hopeful that it would somewhat dim the sun that so often blinds me on my way to work. I was disappointed to find that there wasn’t any fog to be found. Not, that is, until I crested the hill at the foot of which lies my place of employment.
it’s strange, but I still felt that tiny tinge of excitement at not being able to see any of the familiar buildings. perhaps they have all been erased, leaving nothing behind but trees and hill of grass and the highway cutting between them. and I still felt the overwhelming disappointment as the buildings came into view and I pulled into the parking lot as I used to feel when the bus arrived at the newly visible school.
it is strange, the things that stick with you.