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HEAVEN IN THE FOG
There is a mysterious almost eerie beauty to the fog and her tapestry of grey
It’s as if we’ve found ourselves immersed in a painting by Monet.
As the fog begins to blanket us…holding the sun at bay
all the boundaries that divide the world…for a moment…fade away.
All the colors become muted…blend together…co-exist…
perhaps that is the wonder of the fog…the beauty of the mist.
I grew up believing heaven was high above the clouds…where everything was white.
Where there was only love…no pain…no suffering…no bigotry…no spite.
Where all the things that divide us here on Earth when we get to heaven cease…
Where we spend an eternity among the clouds living in kindness, and friendship and peace.
But I wonder if the Gods are trying to show us as the fog they send us is unfurled
If blurred boundaries and muted colors are how we’re meant to see the world.
That, if here on Earth we can make all the things that divide us finally cease,
then we can live a lifetime here… in kindness, and friendship and peace.
Now I think the heaven of my youth can be thought of a different way…
that it doesn’t have to be white or in the clouds…that heaven can be grey.
That the heaven I grew up believing in…doesn’t have to be an epilogue…
That all we have to do is look around…and find our heaven in the fog.
The second line precisely and
The second line precisely and accurately nails the experience---it is like being in someone's painting (not sure I am familiar with Monet or what he painted). I first began to notice fog during my undergrad years, and at times it completely blanketed the campus and the effects were both beautiful and eerie. But it painted everything, regardless of original colors, in gray. The second line of your poem definitely brought back that ancient memory.
Starward