Vapor.


The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

– Ecclesiastes 1:6

    This morning, while I was sitting on the bus, we passed by the humongous field that we usually pass by. However, this morning was different; a layer of fog stood one foot above the still-wet grass, a blanket covering the vast field from end to end. As the sun rose, light filtered in through the multicolored leaves and the world, through my eyes, was seen as a kaleidoscope. And somehow, I was kept alive by this air, this thing connected to everything else, fog, nature, purity, the helplessness of our race.

    There is a story of a Chinese man, from the GuanDong province of China who was being persecuted by the communist authorities. He had heard they were going to take him away the next morning. When his wife and two young children were asleep, he got on his knees and began to pray. That night he lamented and poured out his soul to whoever would listen. His neighbour, back from a wedding, heard his voice as he opened the door to his house. The neighbour casually walked over to the side of his house and said loudly, “Shuang houng chee sho wha?”, which translates to, “Why are you talking to air?” You’re crazy. The neighbour stood there for an answer, and the man kept on praying for another five minutes. Then he stood up, looked at the neighbour, and said, ‘The crazy know it’s more than just air they talk to.’

    I know there’s a moral somewhere. I just can’t put my finger on it. You figure it out.

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