i'm reading my book on the order of time and not understanding much. i have a feeling i'll still be in a fog at the end. i have the thought it's been foggy since r. left, though i know the fog has been opened and penetrated by a few light hours. we chart the weather sometimes, from her to here. the weather of fog or light conjoins. 
the fog is the same as thought, or the place of thought, which is befogged, which is a presence filled with absence, distant and near, only in time, as the vision is close by, and the horizon obscure. in here, in the room looking out, in fog, i see the fog, the birds that appear and disappear, the buildings softened, indefinite, i see the fog as a presence and absence, which has its particular light, like the presence in the room of r. who is not here.

happy bird day r. here in the fog holding the place where you are.