He couldn’t tell if the fog had lifted from above or below, had imploded or exploded.  He was in it, and then he wasn’t.  He had been hiking up the mountain trail and found himself elsewhere, on a rocky ledge unfamiliar to him, at its very edge — when suddenly the fog around him went poof.  His gaze fell below his feet into the still fog-enshrouded canyon he had almost just fallen into.  He felt at first possessed of an airiness, a waftiness, and, following it, a dark and sudden weightlessness.  He was sure there was still one more sensation to follow, but it eluded him when he felt suddenly struck by a fear of the precipice, afraid even to turn his back to it.  For long after, he was able to feel in an instant those four un-nerving steps backwards, away from the precipice, to where he felt himself able to breathe, think, feel alive.  That’s it, he said to himself, that’s it — four steps from the edge is where I need to be.