The fog engulfed everything as if it hadn't fed in months. Visibility was next to nothing, and yet she sat at her window, staring out into the heavy mist. This was her favorite type of weather. This was ocean mist; the kind of overcast that snuck in while you slept, interrupted the lights of heaven, and lingered throughout the morning. Sometimes, on those lucky days of hers, the overcast would give way to actual rainclouds around noon, and they would remain until around, oh, say, sunset, and then would part just enough to let fuchia light play around those infamous silver linings, then as darkness ascended, the lights of heaven once again took their rightful places in the night sky. It all gave her a feeling of hope, as if the spirits agreed that life was indeed good, and were trumpeting the news through their natural canvases to the entire world. But even with this joy, the melancholy remained. And she knew why. She wished she wasn't so wise. Knowing made the pain that much worse, because she also knew she couldn't do a damned thing thing to alieviate the pain. She sighed. Still nothing out the window but a blank, grey slate. What was it exactly that she was looking for? A dark movement? A shimmer of light? Certainly she would not find such things in this fog. so why was she still looking? She would be lying to herself if she said she didn't know. She knew exactly what she was looking for in that mist. Another tidbit of painful insight. What she sought would never be found lurking in the comforting gloom outside her window. There would always be only the grey canvas, and she would always have to place the images of color and light on the canvas herself. The ghosts in this mist were her own. And that's all they could ever be. The cat jumped into her lap. Another marker of hurt, but somehow the little one always made her smile. Her fingers became lost in the long, soft fur as she looked out the window once more. Comfortable Melancholy. Another sigh escaped her lips. Would there ever be a comfortable anything else? The cat was asleep, purring contently, and somewhere outside, a crow announced the news of the day to his friends, a rather lengthy report. The sun was beginning to break through, its rays bouncing off the water that still clung to the air. Those rays like daggers, killing her hopes. Those familiar feelings of failure and disappointment, of seemingly endless sadness, returned as she stood up. The cat was disturbed from its slumber. Visibility was increasing. She doubted that the dark movement or the shimmer of light noticed that it could now see clearly what was right in front of it. The shadow and the light would never see, would never be as wise as she. She sighed once more, and turned her back to the window.
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