Aquarium days

An odd feeling on a strange day. It is a day when the horizons seem to lose their sharp line, when sky and earth are mingling to a blurry something, as if the painter of the landscape decided to repaint everything and wiped a sponge over the colours. I've never seen so much smog hanging on the mountain tops, and never before so much fog over the sea. The laundry hanging outside in front of every window board is getting as dry as if it'd have been hung up down in the murky wash cellar lavatory. In the same breath that I inhale into my lungs (but fail), I realize that it's not only the heat and the strange doldrums that hang like an invisible big bubble over this city and repulses any soft gentle wind right at its gates. It's also something personal. Slowly, I become a prisoner of present. My future, once painted with fine lines and a multitude of colours, gets swallowed by a brown-grey fogg, in which the chance of opportunities continuously shrink. In the same instance, my past slowly drifts apart, people change places, places change people, and, if that weren't enough, people constantly change. I feel caught, exposed, stumbling through a vast ley without any paths. Stumbling ahead is the only thing I know to do, without compass, no North, no South, no East, no West. There's only to and fro, and both seem so much alike that they cancel each other out. May a big storm sweep me away, or may a caravane pass by and grab me. Or may the animal instincts finally revive, after all, and show me where to walk.