Fog

I look.

I look from my window at a blanket of fog which now covers the field.

A haunting fog.

A haunting fog which drifts through winter trees.

A fog of mystical shapes.

Mystical shapes which strip the early morning of all its sunlight.

I look.

I look but the day and all its references have have been taken from me.

All is now still,

a kind of dark settles all around me.

The birds have fallen silent.

All is cold,

cold,

cold.

Headlights of cars run along the lane. 

Headlights like the eyes of trapped souls lost in a fog,

as if...

as if running back and forth trying to find some way out of an eternal,

eternal dammed incar-cer-ation. 

I briefly,

briefly look away then,

then I look back...

I look back,

but the fog has all gone and all is normal,

normal once more!