fog knows no borders or human ends

[Jeremy Hight]

The fog nestled along coasts and hills, cities and towns,  over freeways and graveyards.  It knew no cartographic edges, no borders ,  no fanged division of measure of maps,  no shining new or quieting old be it stone , brick, soil, metal or the human imaginary.   The fog was a body cooling ,  a grey anti-instagram near nebulous yet roiling, floating, fingers at times low across rooftops in the early morning hours.  There was no wi-fi but the fog did not know of this.  A man had shouted at someone cruelly,  a boy had teased another, a man had cheated another out of money and future ,  a tired old building had met its demist despite that history , that glowing interior and the crowd of birds of all those names in signature.  

The fog knew none of this, blissfully so, it simply curled and spun,  lent cooling shadow to all before it was its time and the sun burned it away into another afternoon.