I took a step in the white thick fog. Life slowed down by the droplets of water that levitate mid air, unsure of their place, defying gravity, obeying the moment. London is enveloped by a stratus cloud that makes everything look breathtakingly ethereal and chillingly scary at the same time.
I am here, in the fog, and I go back to the times of uncertainty; the times where even though you can make out the shapes, you do not know what is around you, what waits ahead, what you left behind.
…and then you walk. One foot in front of the other. Slowly, steadily, feeling weak, not realising how brave you really are. You look back and that looks faraway, hidden in the fog. Will it clear up if you stand still, or should you keep moving? You decide to take another few steps, and with each step the fog is clearing up. You find your path, and you walk on it, and if this path changes halfway and does not lead to your destination anymore, you find your path again. There must be a destination, a purpose for your journey. So you walk. And the fog lifts. And you look back and you ask yourself ‘how did I cover so much ground?’.
There is speed in bravery. There is power in hope. And so, I walk.