Fog Comes to the Valley: The world shrinking to a soft, safe circle

Isla Merriweather

Some evenings the valley just decides to disappear, folding itself into mist until only the nearest fence post and the sound of your own breathing remain. This is that slow narrowing, told at the pace of settling fog: the world losing its edges, sound going soft and close, distance losing meaning until nothing exists beyond the small, safe circle around you. Gentle, drifting, and built to carry you past the last clear thought into sleep.