This morning's mist hangs heavy. So much so that it drops splattering, dripping across the face like written words causing cataract of the heart, embedded narcissistically in the scattered reflection of one's dramatic self image. Reflection of neglected cardinal virtues. Perhaps just misdirected, into a small cup half filled with salt. The bitter taste of which Osiris sipped, proffered politely, a last thought reflected on the kindness of the Sun. Because the mist hangs heavy and it will rain all day.