The fog was like a cotton white blanket that hung low over the surface of the lake. The night was dark and damp. The cool air made even the crickets all eerily silent.
In the darkness that surrounded the lake valley, the only source of light was a single lit window. Be brave dear traveller and step through the mists and windows of the universe.
If you hear the fog horn cry, it means you are very late, as late as a White Rabbit was for a Mad Hatter tea party.
Run as fast as you can, cower and jump over the ravine rocks. Try as you can but you can never outrun the deadly pale scythe of fate.
Boarding the night train will scarcely help you, it will only buy you more time. But time is precious isn’t it? And as the carousel of life twists and turns in the brightly coloured carnival of life, no man can forever sit securely in a lush compartment of destiny.