Matthew Lyle Landsman

Wednesday morning…I hear there’s a fog outdoors. I haven’t been out yet. But I shall soon. I believe the departed join us in the fog, where they can hide in plain sight. It gives a kindness to the mist, a knowing to the mystery. There is usually still air, otherwise I’d smell the colognes so familiar from days long past being carried on a lucky breeze.
I feel a gifted kindness as the sea like air caresses my cheek and cools my ears. And on this murky morning, I will listen attentively for a voice here and there, beckoning me to just walk a bit more, loiter for reasons unapparent to others there…and with any luck at all, there will be a faint song in the air, a melody to accompany me.
And should a foggy day carry too a bit of frost, I’ll revel in the coated branch and bough, needle and leaf…and be filled with a decoration filled reunion there whilst strolling with ones nearby…And the tears that come from such a misty, chilly morn might be what nature brings, or a grateful twinge of gladness for their presence once again…
And while fog surrounds me there, I will be blessed, caressed, and comforted like a celestial hug to join with till the sun peaks out, or the door is closed behind me…But I will know that still I’m loved. Matty