Nausea

It came upon me by degrees, as my friends drove
down the winding hills. I asked if I could crack
the window open. The fog came in, slipping through 
rows of cypress trees along the cliffs. I think 
there was a wind, but perhaps it was an illusion 
created by the vehicle's speed. In films, a moment 
of tension can be depicted through a character
immovable before a window, while the landscape 
recedes or advances. I distinctly remember 
the taste of egg yolk on my tongue, from breakfast 
hours earlier. Two triangles of toast, a melange 
of spinach and cream on one side of the plate 
that couldn't quite make its way down my throat. 
I am reminded that not everything we're given 
needs to be swallowed. The trees are shrouded now, 
but they're still there. They never surrender.