Limbed Ghost

When I look at fog, I see it as a shroud that creates mysterious spaces. It can roll over a mountain or, as we see it here, appear to be a veil cast across a forest. Fog is often changing and alive and moving. At moments when it is most dense, it obscures vision and creates a partition between the viewer and the viewed.

In that partitioning, we may not see something as grand as the sea, or a forest, or mountain. Unless we choose to wait for the reveal, we might turn away and miss the opportunity to experience awe. Applied to humanity, fog can be a metaphor for those times when we succumb to impatience and fail to allow time and a deep gaze to show another person’s beauty.

Fog doesn’t have to make us feel stuck. If I see it as enveloping as opposed to oppressing, I can sink into it. I can wrap myself in the beauty of a tree’s spirit. The ghost-like softness expands and when I encountered the tree in this image I recall feeling its wisdom, longevity, and the activity happening underground. My tree could bend with the wind but not break. What could be more fascinating than this limbed ghost?