Fog intrigues me. If it is bad, you can’t see anything; “what lies beyond that curtain?” Sounds seem all around you, as people in boats testify when they are trying to find their way in it.
What hides behind at the blanket of mist
that shrouds the distance in mystery?
A sentinel guards its secret place;
no eyes can breach its security.
Slowly it creeps and swallows its victims,
as they disappear from sight.
Sounds become echoes that fade away,
and then the air is filled with fright.
Enter its sanctuary if you dare;
there is no compass, there is no guide,
only the walls painted ghostly white
by those who choose there to reside.
Darlene Estlow, 2014
Advertisements
Darlene I surely miss my years in Santa Barbara where we had early morning fog…then about noon the sun would break through and all would be right with my world.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks for commenting. I didn’t remember that you lived in California. A traveler like me.
LikeLike