#41 Fiction

Fog is water’s quietest form. It makes no noise and has no outline, save for the shadows cast through it by crepuscular rays of sun. In many ways, fog simply is. It dwells between a state of light and dark, gas and liquid.

I was amazed by the way Joe launched himself into the air, running with the glider along the platform and leaping into the blue abyss of the sky, entrusting himself to his synthetic wings.