Walking through the Rockies on an uncharacteristically warm February day can be a bit challenging. After all, the path literally disappears into the all-consuming fog. This is neither rain, nor snow. Perhaps, it is better to say that you are walking through the cloud, though that mental image prompts something white and fluffy, not this endless Gray.
Upon closer inspection, hints of color do appear amidst the evergreens that look like they are under water. And, old tamarack needles from the previous season—no longer cheerful orange—sprinkle the dirty asphalt with dark-brown patches.
There is no wind, no cars, no birds. All that is heard is the creaking sound of the ski lift that cannot yet be seen. And when it is, its chairs ride upward—not above the clouds, since you are in a cloud—but rather into Nowhere.
Your immediate surroundings notwithstanding, there is nothing above, nothing behind, and nothing in front of you. You are inside this Nowhere.