Sunday 21 August 2011

fog

The fog is close today. It used to be real fog - the morning sun would burn it away and you could watch the valleys steaming. This fog is different; a friendly lilac colour and has filled the valleys and creeps higher and higher. Something is wrong, but they didn’t tell us. The screens they installed are white and silent and the speaking people gone. Before we moved further up the hills travellers through the village spoke of catastrophe. We cannot go any higher. Some brave souls took their families and ventured down the valley to investigate. That was long ago

The children have never seen the sun. Or a cloud. The sky is a vague whiteness. Sounds of animal life have disappeared. The cicadas were the last to go - as if the Earth’s clock had stopped. And the lilac euthanasia creeps closer each day. There is a strange contentment, and nobody talks about it. Even the children are silent - I used to worry about what to tell them.

The enchantingly hued vapour is around our feet as we gather in the church. The English Father says everything will be ok. We let him think we believe him
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