Haze is a sheltering cloak. The mist and the rain envelop me, muffle my senses, make me feel safe. I linger, sultry in the shadows and droplets that hang from air itself, but protected.
I do not want to be safe.
I want the shining starkness of this new day, sun day, clouds hanging low ripe for the plucking day: the distinct variations in the greens, my chaos exposed and ordered by the breeze, just this, just this day. I want to see it, say it, sally forth, lie down, count my blessings.