Fog

The fog is drifting through the trees like a cold-hearted thief in
the night...
It's icy wet fingers leave behind droplets on everything it touches,
Nothing is left undisturbed...
It violates every life form in it's path...
The air is eerily still, but the fog moves on,
of it's own accord,
picking up and devouring smoke from a hundred woodburners
along it's path...

The trees drift in and out of human vision in the twilight,
    and the fog caresses their naked branches silently,
as if taking on the visual entity
of Mother Nature's love-making.
The moon becomes a silver grey-yellow blob of light,
     diffused through the foggy blanket...
     And the blanket is never constant, dripping here and there,
     To allow a peek through to the black velvet sky,
    Strewn with distant twinkling objects in the heavens...

Twilight has turned to nightlight into dawn's light,
     while the fog gathers it's forces to assault the morning travelers...
       It thrives on human chaos, confusion, and disorientation...
   Where are the lines in the road?
Where is the dreaded ditch?
   Where are the street signs, the familiar markings,
   on which mankind so relies,
..... Where? .....
Could it be the fog is Mother Nature's messenger,
     sent to remind us of our insignigicant reality?
   Does it delight in knowing we are powerless to affect it?

But, on our side this morning is our warm ally.......the sun...
    accompanied by the wind...
As day hours accumulate, the sun enables the pre-Winter breezes
    to do her bidding...
And like the ghosts of the night, the fog disappears...
taking it's chilled blanket of gloom to other places...


...... Far from here ......