Ferrara Fog

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The fog settled in, heavy, all day on Friday. So thick you feel as if you are in a murder mystery. Buildings glow in the dark. Sunlight filters down in the day. The fog is so dense you can smell it, it reminds me of my humidifier as a child.

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I swatted a fly and CRACK, out came a piece of the window, and it took on a webbed pattern. I broke a window. I thought someone had to at least be drunk to break a window. Of course it happens on a Saturday morning, meaning that I won't be able to call the repairman until Monday, which means a week or so before anything actually happens, maybe.

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The words may ebb in the excitement of a visiting friend, a busy week, a thanksgiving feast. But with every ebb there is a flow. Low tides inevitably mean future highs.