The wonderous world of weather phenomenon. It's perplexing, how such things evoke thoughts and feelings in me.

Mist can be romantic and mysterious. As it creeps and lingers around trees and up against moss-covered blocks of granite I sense something otherworldly. Infiltrating and caressing. Implying a spark of life it does not possess. Like a stalker, only less likely to carry a knife.

Fog is sometimes comforting when it envelopes your house on an autumn sunday while you enjoy a cup of tea. Turning your humble abode into a safe island, plunked down in an ocean of upcoming and stressful monday morning musts.

Haze mutes the world, bluring the harsh colours and blunting the sharp edges. Making the world seem distant and soothingly at bay. Perhaps a moderate bout of cataract would be beneficial? Not only for the weed-privileges.

Few things can compare to the pleasures of imagining a simple cloud into a rambunctious little turtle driving a tractor (fueled by nothing but chocolate) on a marvelously sun-drenched spring day. That so much joy can be drawn from water vapor floating aimlessly through the air. From what is in essence just dampness taken flight. So why don't I feel the same way when it infiltrates my socks?

I even find mushroom clouds quite attractive. In their own way.

Yoghurtspasm