It gets dark back there when the fog rolls in, back in the folds where it all begins.
Back where the sun now rarely rises, the moon hides, dogs don't bark, and children no longer dance and sing. Now deep recesses lay claim to words, thoughts and places; names and things get misplaced, some mysteriously disappear. The fog swirls slowly and like water finds every crack and every crevice and fills them, insidiously, with doubt and confusion and strips them of clarity, then of dignity. Someone's still there, some where, way back in those dark folds.
Thanks Dave! This one has been swirling around in my head for along time as we see so many elderly friends and family drift away into that fog. Really tough. Love back to you and Carey.
Love it. You have real talent, Rich. Best to you and Andrea.