Mist

Mist

The lake stretched out before him, its detail veiled by a thin layer of water vapour. The mist drifted across the surface almost seeming to have a purpose, a life. Its shape changing as breezes beckoned it on. Sometimes the whole vista was clear and then all would be hidden as though a giant hand had pulled across a curtain.

‘Like my life,’ he thought.

Uncertainty about his future had driven him to seek out solitude and he had found this with the lake. When the weather was fine it attracted visitors and fishermen, children with a large supply of bread for the ducks and souls like him looking for comfort. He had visited at all times of year, brilliant sunshine of Summer making the green shimmer of trees glow; Autumn’s golds and browns making all a carpet of treasure; Winter its snow hiding and disguising and Spring with its small hidden flowers welcoming the future. But regardless of season he enjoyed those early misty mornings when nothing had definition and the lake seemed to go on forever into the distance

‘Like my life,’ he thought

He had found the bench about a year ago. One of those with an inscription, ‘George and Susie loved this spot. Always in our hearts’. He often wondered about George and Susie, pictured them sitting here, content to be together not needing words to cement their bond, shared and silent moments enough. Fancifully thinking that their spirits, not that he believed in such things, had combined with the mist which seemed to be ever seeking.

He remembered a time when there had been an ‘equivalent’ Susie, one short year ago. They had not needed words, just each other. He wished that he had found this spot and this bench ‘before’.

Memories. Wonderful but tinged with sadness. Sadness that his, their, life had ended all too soon. Those internal visions were once again replaced by those of the swirls of water droplets held in suspension. ‘Is that all it is’, he thought ‘an artefact of nature?’ He watched as shapes began to form, trees were shrouded in bridal veils of smoke, it was as though steam was rising from the surface of the water but had become trapped, unable to rise or fall. All seemed to have become a strange, surreal land, colours and details lost. ‘Much like my life. Since.’

If he looked carefully he could see shapes, indistinct but imagination, memories and dreams could conjure them up into the shape he most wanted to see again. He longed to be a part of it, to be one with it, to be with her. He knew that many others over this past year had been in this dark place, could see nothing past the fog that lay in front of him, so easy to give in. He closed his eyes, waiting for the moment when it would end.

‘Great spot this!’ He turned and saw a figure at the far end of the bench.

‘Always something to look at, never the same. Could spend hours here, and we did. We’d bring a picnic, and a blanket. The ducks waiting hopefully. Didn’t give them bread though, not good for duck digestion. They got to know us and expected the little treats we brought for them. She loved them, smiling at their antics. Their lovely laughing voices always making her laugh. Such lovely memories.’

About to make a reply he looked and his companion had gone. Disappeared and become part of the mist.

He stood, planning his next visit, and as he did the mist dispersed leaving a fresh beautiful lake ringed by trees with everything as clear as a bell.

‘Such lovely memories.