I am walking in early cold fog
along the edges of the Bay,
and the water is held in a
misty grip and the far side
of the Bay is hidden in the
whiteness and the whole
scene is taken from a tale of
long ago in misty mountains.

With each step, the trees appear
like magic out of the flowing white
veil, the haar of an old Norse
tale, and even morning sounds are
swallowed up in the mystery haze
except my footsteps that fall slow
and crunch the ground, breaking
the silence just a little within this
intimacy of fog and I together along
the steaming water of the Bay.

 

7/7/2024