As if yesterday wasn't
plenteously dreary,
this morning I awake to
an impenetrable wall of fog
— the hostile kind —
the kind that appears it
could be carrying contagion
or a malevolent god force
transporting ill omens
to a heedless population.
My expeditiously vivid
train of thought
accelerates into warp drive
racing through memories
seeking morbidly
apt references.
I am transported —
I feel myself now
on the bow
of a salmon fishing boat
off Puget Sound,
in the wee hours —
so I know now that I am in
Snow Falling on Cedars
— a book read with,
then the film screened
for my Honors English classmates
and me in ninth grade.
I can simultaneously feel
the hard molded navy desk chair,
the too-short icy steel legs
pressed uncomfortably
into my own filly-length legs.
The hideous greige righty-top
cuts into my hunched form.
I feel on my skin the humidity,
the Pacific Northwest's
clammy moisture of the sea,
oppressing my vision and soul.
And then I’m swept away
by murky tides.
The classroom fully fades —
and now I’m Lost
on a remote beach
in the tropics.
It's meant to be
uncharted,
deep in the
vast South Pacific.
On the sand
I spy twisted fuselage
in my peripheral —
is that a plane?
But my brain cuts in,
as it's wont to,
to clarify that the
TV set I’m on
is actually filmed on Oahu —
But before I can
correct myself further
an ominous charcoal mist
envelops me —
The Smoke Monster?
Ah-ah!
My initial suspicion
was right —
this fog is killer
(Press the button!).
Di-duh-di-duh!
The toaster oven dings
bringing me back
to the mundane dreariness
of a foggy Thursday
in suburbia.
I rise from my pensive seat
to collect a pair
of chive biscuits
—that I’d fished
from the freezer
like a body
from the cold sea —
to revive me
from this dank day.
I exhale with relief,
convinced that I
will find grounding
in these baked goods,
which will surely drive
Pantone hues into this
monochrome morning.
I bite through crisp crust
of the first breakfast treat
and encounter pockets
of oozy Cheddar cheese.
How smart Past Me was
back in January
to freeze a few of these for
a future indulgence, and
how needed this are today.
I begin to sense pigments
seep back into my world:
through green specks
of herbs that fleck
the craggy golden surface.
Molten butter
glowing in Beta carotene
drops down like gold paint
along my greedy fingers
pushing savory crumbs
into my awaiting mouth.
If I can't change the weather
at least I've got myself a
color-drenched meal and a
technicolor imagination.
