North via South

On the road to Virginia the fog was thick in places, sometimes so thick it was hard to see cars ahead, in other places so thin the half moon appeared in the sky like a glowing bowl that had spilled its stars. Mostly the fog, illuminated by street lights, back lit the bare trees, setting the stage for something that seemed far more numinous than what the cement barricades and tire shrapnel by the side of the road promised.

At one moment the fog, illuminated like a cross section by the headlights of oncoming traffic cutting over a barricade, lit the marbled vapors above us so we could distinctly see all the beaded drapery of air currents enfolded in the cloud blanket that clung to the landfall past the bridge. For almost nothing at all it was freakishly something, the closest I've come to the Northern Lights while heading South across the Delaware, for a moment creating the illusion that I could observe the diaphanous currents included in the unincludable.

It reminded me of a dream I had a while ago; through the window of my house I saw a figure in the East, a Madonna made of clouds stretching from the firmament down to the Earth. When I saw her I left the house, kneeled crying on the stoop. I can't recall ever crying in my dreams before.