The battle of fog & clarity

Clarity blinks into the fog like a musket flash.

 

Cool wet air… salt fills my lungs.

 

Mania arrives like  bullets buzzing my earlobe

 

Long hallways of pure white… echos beating down like shards of broken glass.

 

Swimming up toward deep Bahama blue, I whisper into deaf ears.

 

"Patience" says Neal , rest.

 

Pointing green clad arm direct me. I turn south.

 

The attic is empty, only dust remains.

 

We own nothing but tonight’s rest and tomorrow's will.

 

Schedules only keep the track clean.

 

Comfort in redundancy.

 

Stale gray skies and vanilla for breakfast, lunch and dinner.