By the sea

Having MS is sometimes like living by the sea
On some days, the view is wonderful
I can see for miles
Walking to what I can see
Well, that is another story
The water is always there
weighing me down
stopping my legs

But, every morning, the fog rolls in
Leaving the land a soft grey fuzz
Nothing can be seen
At arm's length, the hand vanishes
Sounds seem distant, disconnected
The raw salt bite of the sea
Stings the nose, filling it

The best option is to curl up
Inside the lighthouse
With a coffee
a book
a cat
and a fire

The coffee to be awake
The book for escape
The cat for a kindred spirit, far from the savannah of its dreams
The fire for light
Each providing its own warmth

Some days, the fog never retreats
It clings to the shore
A cold, wet blanket
Passive oppression
A constant, immovable force

Some days, the storm comes
Battering the sea and the rocks
Slapping against the glass and shutters
Whining and raging
Howling and crying
Leaving behind devastation
Flotsam and jetsam

Few boats come, fewer stay

I can feel the seasons change
The grey coming more
The desire to hide increasing
In the end... what?

Fog forever?