Fog

It was a grey, rainy afternoon.  The first real rain of spring.  Around dinnertime the fog began to roll in.  From my window I watched it slowly blur, then hide, the neighbourhood.  It grew so thick the traffic sounds were muffled.  I felt as though I were in living in a cloud.  Then it slowly lifted, revealing the patches of still not melted snow, the tall evergreen, the red garden shed; all the common wonders of my neighbourhood I had forgotten, gifting them to me anew.