My soul is poisoned like tule fog rolling into the valley, flowing from the emptied slough and swallowing us whole. A bright swift cloud low and rolling like the bobcats that roam the foothills looking for smaller prey. The cold endless grey unyielding pressing against every space until the world disappears and you are abandoned within. It's easy to lose yourself in the fog.
We become saints slowly, and often in the most ordinary of ways.