Fog covers morning’s glory
many a day.
Not this one. Not while the rooster crowed.
Late,
about the timethe sun dances with the evening sky,
a whisper slowly escapes as Mother Earth exhales the day.
Thin threads reach across the weathered fields of fall
suddenly full when they minutes ago seemed spent.
Fog cloaks dusk as if a bridal veil, moving
elegantly
across the sacred threshold of the rolling valley.
Silk strands silently
stride surreal
toward sunset
begging as only royalty can, with
grace, exuberance and confident gait.
No heaviness shows as the wisps embrace the breeze.
Together they tangle thoughtlessly toward their tomorrows
Unaware and uncaring.
This fog enlightens. This fog encircles. This fog embraces
the truth that point of view creates beauty, perspective
defines value and morning’s tears often simply wait till evening to
express their joy.
Dance with them.
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