Deep Mist

Through the doorway velvet fog presents itself. Tiny droplets landing on my face, hair, jacket, cool enveloping me with such gentle embrace that I hardly recognize it. Trees stand sentinel in the fog, transported from Narnia and The Never Ending Story, fading into the distance, leading to those worlds whose only invitation is imagination. At this moment though, I could walk in, cross over; the distance between fantasy and life is made of translucent paper instead of real. Deep purple dusk intertwines itself with fog in an embrace of passion and inspiration. The rocky drive leads upwards, mirrors my elation. Long legs in thick jeans and scrubby boots carry me on the road and every bit of the reality in which I'm traveling knows that magic is here, transformed to meet the world which presents itself in this blazing moment. My breath grows ragged as the road pushes me forward. You are there almost there, it says. I see the road flatten, the old white Ambassador waiting for me past the gate. I reach the car and the door swings open.

D: Bahut tunda, uh?
A: Hunh ji.

I pile in, pull the door shut, breathing heavily, beaming, eyes glowing. The car pulls away into the mist.