Fog

Nothing other than shrubbery could be seen out of the bus window. A veil of thick fog protected everything underneath and beyond it from our destroying gaze. An opaque window distorted the view, as if censoring from  our impious eyes. We cannot taint if we cannot see. Fog is Gaia's  cureless plan. And, realising her mistake - of giving us eyes that already know - she lifts the fog slowly. Deliberately. Her weeping; the fine mist.