the last days of heavy fog remind me so much of strolling in rural belgium. those first forays into solo travelling. the empowering and beautiful and scary unknowns.
the last nights of heavy fog remind me so much of walking, chilled to the bone, along the streets of halifax’s north end. a very dishevelled me, under permanent misty grey skies. the humidity soaking through my denim, my wool. feeling heartbroken, my life like a living poem.
grateful for this weaving of strands and feelings. moments where i was/am on the cusp.