In a Fog

Maia and I were out walking a few days before Christmas.  It was chilly, damp, and fog was moving in and out.  Sometimes I saw blue sky.  Then fog would sweep in and obscure everything.  Sky, trees, shrubs, houses....all were drained of their color.  The sun was there, a floating perfect disc in the sky curtained by the fog.  If I were a painter, that is how I'd paint  the season of grief.  Wan, cold, damp punctuated by bursts of sunshine and "normal" color.  But I'm not a painter.  I can't make an image of grief; I can only experience it and live through and with it.  There are no choices about living in the season of grief.   My choice is which path I take through the fog.