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!

A Lovely Day

The dawn chorus is delayed. 

An eerie calm settles all around.

Car headlights cut through the fog.

A Virginia Creeper cascades down a fence,

its autumn red stands proud in the gloom.

Misty spiders-webs cover wire fences.

Spiders in residence await a meal.

The recently trimmed hedgerow glistens,

damp,

covered in tiny droplets.

The rising sun colours the whole of the eastern sky a pale orange,

but fails to break through.

The avenues between the apple trees are just rows of fog stretching into the distance.

Sheep in a field drift in and out of view,

and a train passes,

unseen.

I think it's going to be a lovely day!

Endless Fog

No birds fly,
no sun penetrates,
no blue can we see,
no warmth can we feel.
No bird-song: like night-time,
no movement: just stillness.
Then the calm chill is broken by bird-son
...and a ray of sunlight!