Letters

Mariam’s Moments

January 10 - 16, 2018
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There is something romantic about the fog. It is like an untamed clandestine affair needing to be tackled with extreme caution.

The weather last week was breathtaking and New Year’s Eve was certainly the highlight. I opened the main door and all I could see was ... nothing.

Gusts of fog made their way into the house, silently, on tiptoe, sneaking in to escape attention.

I breathed in the cold air deeply, all the serenity and calm the night seemed to have been manifesting. It was hard to decipher the gate. The lamppost was a mere speck as the dim light fought the hollow of the night bravely.

The road seemed like a long stretch making its claim across the horizon.

Is that the silver lining in the sky, an oasis in the desert or just the cat’s eyes breaking the speed of my car? Fog sure does have a way to play with our imagination.

As I drove down the highway, not letting the zero visibility deter me, I felt like detective Sherlock Holmes - out in the chilly night, paying attention to every detail, searching for clues that would help keep me safe on the road ahead.

It was one night when there appeared to be no drivers rushing to get anywhere, no excitement, no thrill was being sought on the roads, only the roads were being sought. Everyone was focused on staying safe, even eager to follow the slow-paced cars. There was a calm flow of traffic to be enjoyed with a strong sense of comradeship at display.

The full moon later added to the ‘oomph’ of the occasion. It was the perfect time of the year to burn some wood and calmly savour the crumbling away year.

As sense of sight was weakened by the thickening fog, the other senses sharpened in anticipation, dancing to the 12 chimes of the clock. And, in the mist of the night, a new year crept up on us, not one to be slowed by anything.

A happy and safe 2018 to you all.

 







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