Sunday, September 25, 2011

The Journal

From June 2008

The fog slid in over the mountain brow obscuring the green trees and ancient rock of the mountain face. Only a few minutes before, she had been able to see the shape of the brow, the lights at the top - street lights? spot lights in a park? - the trucks and cars that travelled up and down the hwy road. She now thought of the hwy as "the mountain road" although she knew it was the 403 hwy. Now that she had lived with this constant view with it's abundant lush greenery, a gift to those who lived below stacked up in their boxes.

But the white mist had swallowed half the mountain and half the road. The remaining half of the mountain brow, less than a half mile away, now appeared so faint it may have been 10 miles distant.

The heavy rain that proceeded the fog seemed to bring hope that the early June heat and humidity would be tempered. lt was 9:30 and early evening had arrived. The temperature had dropped, still some humidity had survived. The fog/mist spectacle had conceded to night, contented now to appear as a deadening haze over the mountain brow.

A haze was dropping over her as well. The drugs were kicking in. Good. Now she wouldn't have to go through the evening wishing she had the energy to do the things she used to do. She wouldn't have to think about being lonely.

She left her balcony  for the 'box' or cubicle that was her apartment. The place she had lived for two weeks and had not met a single soul. She prepared to watch TV.

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