A Looming Fog

I feel as if I'm on a boat, floating on a narrow river, driven between its banks by an invisible strong current, leading me to God knows where. On either side tall upright poplars stand on guard as if I might try to escape. An early greenish hue tints all and ahead of me I see a cloudy thick fog. I wonder who is watching there, hidden in the thick haze. I wonder why I am where I am. Where has my memory gone? Is anyone hiding behind the trees? Maybe I have lost my bearings. Why all these questions in my mind? Or perhaps I’m dreaming. Suddenly I notice ahead of me a fork in the river. Now I am in a checkmate of indecision Especially since the river current stopped. Where must I go? Left or right? Am I going north or south? The fog is no help. The aquatic crossroad confuses. I know not which way to take. Shall I let the river decide? I must take the right at least, but which is the right? Take my bearings with my right hand? I hear an inner voice: "Wake up, take up the oars. Life is what you make it, stand on your two feet, do what is right, or enter into oblivion into that looming fog."