nomadic

Black-gray outside. Air temperature just a little less than body temperature. It doesn’t seem like it, but under the streetlight I can see the fog swirling in its luminescence. There is no wind to the skin, but the vapor undulates and I suppose if I went out again and opened up a little, I could feel it.

It isn’t often, but I was drug from a bad dream into this twilight. One of those where in the initial conscious stupor one is relieved that it was just ephemera – thankfully wrong.