What could possibly be in that white cloud, whiter than the underneath of a seagull's wing, as pale as sea froth, delicate like morning breath on a winter's day, as impenetrable as the mind? Why does it draw you and scare you all at once?
Is it like death: The promise of perfection, everlasting love, all peace, no pain, as yet unknown and unknowable? Is it the mystery of what could be beneath, behind, within?
A childlike wonder, our imaginations running wild through a summer meadow of cornflowers, roses, dew, rainbows, wild horses.
Or is it merely mist before our eyes, designed to confuse, loose us? Or to make us trust the inner compass and walk on through holding our fingers out to caress the whiteness that envelops us?
Time up.
Inspiration: on my walk today I could see a really white, dense mist around the cliffs. It hid them from and made me think: what COULD be in there.
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I would really welcome constructive comments or perhaps even some inspiration. To be honest , I would settle for some encouragement.