The ghost belonging to the fog

Lightly...


“The fog was where I wanted to be. Halfway down the path you can’t see this house. 
You’d never know it was here. 
Or any of the other places down the avenue. 
I couldn’t see but a few feet ahead. I didn’t 
meet a soul. Everything looked and sounded unreal. 
Nothing was what it is. That’s what I wanted—to be alone with myself in another world where truth is untrue and life can hide from itself. 
Out beyond the harbor, where the road runs along the beach, I even lost the feeling of being on land.
 The fog and the sea seemed part of each other.
 It was like walking on the bottom of the sea. 
As if I had drowned long ago. 
As if I was the ghost belonging to the fog, and the fog was the ghost of the sea.
 It felt damned peaceful to be nothing more than a ghost within a ghost.”
― Eugene O'Neill

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The road ~ private

"The Road Not Taken



Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."
— Robert Frost



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