thoughts in the fog...
the wanderlust is growing in my heart, along with the ache of loneliness. ah, this familiar of mine, surrounded by gourps of people, laughing, talking. I know any of them would welcome me, but the sense of belonging is lacking.
i wish i could wander into the fog, through the fog, and come back somewhere new. i wish there were some way to hold the fog in myself...the calm, impassive quiet- i want to hold it close.
the shapes of the trees are bluring and melting. the oaks seem to possess a secret they will not share. they hold it secure in the branches with the fog to give them strengh.
there are roses in bloom all around me. their sent is perhaps on the air, but the faintes breex jsut woke up and is now making the flower heads to sway and nod.
what is the fog? the scientific account does not satisfy, is not enough. there it too much to be felt in the fog- damp, chill, stir of air, settling of sound, diffusion of light. it calls and calms, inviting confidences and introspection. everything is muted, life- its problems an pains- become less important.

~ ~ ~

So for a week I've been avoiding the paper I roughed out Sunday night. I was mad at the world and stung by the injustice of everything when I wrote it and I wanted to wait until I could reaproach it with some objectivity. The objectivity came last night sitting in the fog that blanketed the campus and is just now beginning to break up. I sat and scribbled, curled up in a patio chair, listening to the wandering conversations and random snatches of music...
Later hearing the warm voice of a friend excitedly telling me about the concert of the evening and the week-end's plans, I found the world shifting, ever so slightly, back into a more tolerable frame. The longing is a good thing, it keeps you searching and waiting and watching, never too settled in this life.

I was thinking about getting old today, of the possibility of someday having a husband and children, and grandchildren. It seems like such a strange and foreign idea. I remember when I was a very small girl, perhaps four or five, thinking that the eighth graders in my school were so very big. My circle of friends has always been made up of people older than me in age, but equals in other ways. But, I don't feel grown-up, I don't seem to think and feel in any way differently from how I recall thinking and feeling as a small child. Its so odd to think of having changed and not realize it...and that this unrealized changing will continue for as long as I live.