My mind has always been in the sky. As a child, I remember praying one night asking God to bring the clouds down so I could feel them, maybe even take a seat.
The next morning, my family and I set out to join my father on the track for his military morning jog. I can’t seem to remember what this meeting is called when they do push ups and run in their gray sweats with bold black ARMY shouting in unison.
Anyway, thick fog engulfed the roads and track. I was shivering from the chill of dawn but secretly ecstatic.
I made plans to dance in what I believed to be my answered prayers.
I wanted to run through it with my mouth open and sit on the grass until it disappeared, taking a part of me back up to where I couldn’t reach.
Instead, we ran behind the soldiers. I, until my side cramped and the taste of blood coated the inside of my mouth.
There would be more opportunities for me to enjoy the fog. And there were.
Even after knowing what fog really is, I still fantasize about stopping my car on the side of the road to strip down to my bare skin to dance in a field I can’t see.
Instead, I slow down and imagine the little girl in me doing just that.
We agree, I’ll pick her up later.