The Mist Makes You See Far

The mist makes you see far. Driving home, it was late after a clinic visit the mist hung heavy over the valley that looked like a different landscape. I might as well drive in Bhutan, a place where mad royals live. At the dinner table, the prince excused himself, returned with a machine gun and shot them all, a truly Shakespearian moment. The prince was declared mentally unfit sent to a secure place but since he was now a king, he can walk around and be free of relatives, sits in the throne-room wears a crown and nothing can be done about it. The French got rid of their royals but not totally some of them still walk around calling themselves duke or baron, but politicians occupy their splendid castles. I saw them, the royals of yore moving about in the mist, reminded me of the ghosts on the island of Saragossa where blind old tars are forever trying to escape back to the sea where they once were the princelings of the oceans.