Fog.

Winters in Bologna are usually cold and foggy. This winter is not cold at all, yesterday we had 8°C and it is wierd. But thick fog invades the scenery.
There's no dawn, nor sunset... no moon and stars, only thick grey fog.
Of all the things I got used to living in this region, the fog is something I can't get along with.
It alters my perceptions: muffled sounds, scary shadows, musty smells.
Yes, the smells bothers me as much as the inability to see things clear. I get out around 5am and I don't even worry for what is in front of my bycicle wheels, there's no way I can see anything... the lights of the street lamp, usually very strong, are useless. And the smell... I try to filter it with my scarf that smells of my favourite parfume but still it gets in my nostrils like a subtle ghost and gets in my lungs where I imagine it condensing in polluted water and drowning me.
I bring this imagine it with me the whole day and the mission is try to colour and parfume what remains out of the fog. It's not an easy task and since my physical activities suffer this deprivation of liberty, everything is harder.
Sometimes I feel lost in the fog. I lose every point of reference, I don't know where is north or south or my home or my bike. At work it's destabilizing. I wait for the aircraft to land parked in my place at the stand, than I hear the sound of it, a sound amplified (this time) but can't recognize the type of aircraft (usually I do...I know when there's an MD80. a 737 or an A320 or a small ATR landing)....can't see the light of the Follow Me truck until it's some 10 meters from me... and still don't see the aircraft and then, all of a sudden it appears and can see the big nose of it and it is extremely close!
That makes me think of the sailors and the pirates or of the merchants in the sea. They were brave! Lost in the sea.

Well, it's 3 days my head is aching me terribly. I feel in a ball of glass, can't bear light, nor sounds.
I work, all dressed up from head to toe with double sweaters, special jacket (the only coloured thing), hat, gloves but the head beats every heartbeat.
It's the fog-ghost that doesn't want me to colour the landscape and paints my thoughts of grey and shades of dark.

I shouldn't complain because at least it's not terribly cold but I feel paralyzed by the lack of mobility, the narrow-sight and the colourless landscape.

I need some wind blowing.