One cold Winter morning, I stood waiting for the bus. The Sun was low in the sky, having only just risen a half hour ago, and would set only a few hours from now. Stripes of clouds drifted in the air, stretching but never losing their shape. I was bundled up, but still felt the cold slip under the cuffs of my pants around my ankles and the chill on my back.
The bus was coming, but I had missed the previous one, and now would have to wait for 10 minutes. For almost an hour, there’s a near endless supply of buses at this stop, to take the morning commute into work. After that window passes, the stream slows to a trickle, and in the slowest moments, a bus would only come a few times an hour. I had missed the window, but I was still headed into work.
The evergreens here were taller than those back home, she thought. They stretched up towards the sky, becoming long & spindly by the tree tops, swaying only gently in the breeze. She wondered how they managed to stay so strong, being as slight as they were. The fog spilled around them like molasses poured onto a plate. It swirled around her, & she drew her hand through it as if testing the water. She brought her hand up to her face the the fog dripped off of it, spiraling down as it tumbled back into the stream.
It started innocuously enough, as most of my projects did. A friend of mine crashed their drone into the lake, presumed dead. Just a small consumer model, all stock. Once we fished it out, water had run to the motherboard, shorted everything. He said it was done, and that I could have it.
I first saw it in a dream. At least, I thought it was a dream. I’m not sure how I would’ve gotten on a boat otherwise. The quivering lights, on the horizon, drifting and shifting, a mirage on the bay, towards the harbor. A flying fish leapt from the salty spray to watch me before returning to sleep in the deep.
It is said that perhaps we know as little about the densest forests on Earth as we do as the bottom of the oceans. The seas, with their gradual abyssal wonder, contain many vast secrets, but that within the light is mostly subject to human scrutiny. While the condition is not nearly as drastic as in the great depths under the waves, the forest floor too contains much to be discovered.
In the city, it never gets dark. Not truly. On nights like this, in the fog, the lights bleed across the sky, watercolor grey, spilling out over the silence. Dapple dances across my apartment wall. A car drifts into the good night on the street below. I am restless. The light fills me with an intense energy, something ethereal and concrete, my very molecules vibrating, never-ending.