Fog in graveyatds is so beautiful. Tragically, darkly beautiful.

Imagine taking a carride, or maybe a walk on a foggy morning and happening upon a graveyard.

You stare into the thick clouds and watch them swirl slowly around the tombstones and statues in the cemetary.

The faint array of colors from flowers laid there to rest with those whom have departed.

the fog seems to enchanct you. Pull you in. It seems to giv a sort of wonder to te gated yard of passed lives.

To walk among the fallen clouds is a desire of yours so you slowly to make your way into the garden of the dead.

Watching the fog move around t you is a vision to behold. As you move through the fog, you vision becomes better, only to be blurred again by the brush of endless clouds.

Looking at your feet, you see moss and grass squish beneath you. Stand still and its is as if the earth is breathing.

You continue walking and hear the crunch of leaves fallen and flower petals dried and rotting.

Yet, the smell of those flowers, so sweet, lingers. With a wif of something unknown. Something foreign. Something like death.

The fog seems to grow more dense as you go further into the cemetary. The eyes of statues seem to be perpetually on you. Burning a hole through your skin, straight to your soul.

There is always a feeling of something behind you in the fog. Something parting, slowly parting, its was through the clouds to get to you.

Not knowing whether or not this spirit after you is good or evil makes the hair on your neck stand up. Not knowing whether it will brush lightly passed you or knock you to the ground.

You try and forget the feeling that you're not alone, but the fog becomes more thick, not helping that feeling.

You're torn between what lies withing the fog and being taken aback by the sheer beauty of the spectacle so you continue to walk. Taking in every sight, sound, and smell.

Everything .

You may stop occasionally to see who's grave you've come upon or to see what the statue looks like. To appreicate how the fog seems to move around and touch ever so delicately the flowers scattered across a grave.

But the best thing about being in the foggy graveyard is having the chance to see spirits in the clouds.

The swirling clouds would form figures. Dancing over the graves. Floating above the physical world. Blissfully unware of the tragedy surrounding them.

That's the funny thing about graveyards, you notice. Everyone seems to see them as a bleak, dismal place, full of despair and pain.

When in all actuality, they are a place of rest and peace.

Not having to feel pain, sadness, grief, love, happiness, joy, or anything for that matter.

In bliss. 

You consider this and you feel a dreadful sense of relaxation.

You start to realize why the fogy place of death is so appealing. You want to join them. The spirits in the cemetary.

You want to join them in their weightlessness. You want to float with them.

To be in their world in nothing. World of no thought.

No feeling.

No burdens.

No stress.

Nothing. Just you. And them. Join them there. Dance among the spirits.

You want to dance above the physical world. To dance in the fog.

And when the fog lifts, there would be no trance, no evidence. That you were ever there.

To float above this world in weightlessness. To be far beyond the earth and the beings within it.

To find total and absolute peace within yourself and in those spirits around you.

Then to simply disappear with the fog.

But then you realize  that there is no need.

The fog, you see, is a good friend. A cool and solemn reminder of what is and what was. 

You don't need to join the fog.

Not yet. Just visit. Have a taste of what is to come. Not soon. But eventually.

To have that line and peace, to recognize the happiness within what is dark gives you hope.

To see the spirits gives you comfort. To see that you are not alone. 

That there are forces out there, accompanying you, pushing you forward.

Then comes the revelation that the reason the fog and spirits call to you is to whisper that there is more beyond the fog.

More to see.

More to do.

The fog is not the end.

The graves are not the enemy.

What you do with your time between the fog and the grave is precious and should be accepted.

Those who came before you, those who reside in the fog and among the graves tell you that the fog is merely a stop.

The fog will lift, fog soon fades. 

The spirits dancing continue to beckon.

But only to tell you to walk through.

To show that at then end of the fog, there is so much ahead fo you.

So go forth and don't ever let the fog consume you.

The fog come and goes.

You are simply passing through.