One of the things I get much enjoyment from is heavenly bodies traveling from unknown parts across oceans of time and through dark mattered corridors of space to burn up in the friction of our coarse atmosphere.

Early this morning the annual Geminid meteor shower peaked, but my quadrant of the Universe was shrouded in thick fog.

Getting out in it was still important to me. The visiblity was something like 5 feet, so I just had to drive in it. Strong bright lights were muffled and haloed. Distances were unmeasurable. Familiarity was lost.

There were moments on the drive where it looked and felt as if my car were sitting on the bottom of sea. Murky soot from the sandy floor kicked up by giant squid held the promise of some deadly Nautilus piercing the cloud and slicing my Honda in half.

The fog seems so comfortable, so familiar. I could sleep in it. It's 27 Degrees and I could simply close my eyes and drift off the road.

Is this what it looks like in that space between thought? That ledge we must step off of to dream. Heaven. The land we roam as ghosts searching for answers to the unanswerable.