Last night, as I went for a run in the fields, a low ground-fog settled, giving a ghostly glow to the grass: mystical and haunting. Only as I slowly turned back on myself, in the first U of a loop, did I see the orange moon, large and low, percolating through veils of suspended condensation. I slowed to a shuffling jog as I observed these two unusual characters as if I'd chanced on them fraternising; stumbled into their private meeting and must now proceed with caution. My feet trotted on as my face stayed fixed; immobilised by these phenomenal creatures. My heart wanted to stay to capture the moment, perhaps go back home and fetch the camera, but another voice said "you don't have the time".
I can't remember the last time I was so struck by the beauty of the natural sight, arranged by happen-chance and the movement of the terrestrial world, particularly now I don't travel anymore or spend minutes looking at petals or the movement of worms, instead stuck at my desk, in the confines of the built environment, working for someone else. I had to move on. How I now wish I had ignored that idiotic, galling, parasitic time-keeper. Because that moment will never happen again
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