Posted by: Kathryn Hulick | July 21, 2009

Fog

Mt. Monadnock, NH. Dcember 28, 2003.

12-28-03 Monadnock with Sam

Lost. Sky surrounds, swallowing whispers, drawing out solid stone into thickening fog. I see my knees, my elbows, but what else is there? The sky has claimed my boots and hands as its own.

I will move like a young child, crawling my way. But first I stand, at the center of a world drained of colors. A world of close, crawling, living air. Carl Sandburg said the fog moves in on little cat feet – here the cat has curled up sleeping. I can feel her breathing all around me.

If you can hear me, gray cat, there’s two of us here. I’d like some space to call my own. I’d like the sun back.

Cats are notoriously difficult to reason with.

So I crawl, blindfolded and burdened. The rocks help me along, showing helpful handholds, warning of crevices and holes. They know me well. I’ve been here before–in kinder weather. Without the cat.

This way, this way. Up and over. Careful here. Now right.

I listen and obey, and my invisible hands reach out to grasp solid stone. My knees drift and and out of sight. I’m going. I’ll come down from this mountain and sing with the blue sky, the butterfly sky, the songbird sky.

It’s not far now.

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Responses

  1. Love it! I love your descriptions and your choice of wording- crawling like a child, and bringing in the cat reference! You need to get published!!!


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