Loss, embodied for me in morning fog. I often wonder the why and the how this became mournful to me. The quiet, the cool, the mist which accompanies the rolling in and the settling around. The immediateness, the fully encompassing suspicion of what may lurk within.
In this time of impending and inevitable loss, reimagining the meaning has become, is becoming a must, a need, a headlong rush. Discovery, fear wrangling and acceptance are the short list.
The why and the how may never be available. Becoming lifelong companions with unknowing seems the best course. Walking the walk through the fog, grasping hands for support while reciprocating the same. Together, patiently waiting for the lift, the breath, the relief which comes with the sun’s full rise. Knowing the sun’s warmth is on its way eases, but does not fully remove the chill of now.
These are the pursuits.
Flâneur, from the French noun flâneur, means "stroller", "lounger", "saunterer", or "loafer". Flânerie is the act of strolling, with all of its accompanying associations. A near-synonym is 'boulevardier'.
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