Soft misty morning;
Gray ghosts take over the trees.
Owl hoots far away.
Ahead there's blankness;
Mist absorbs all sight and sound.
Then the rushing stream.
I strain for a sound;
Fog envelopes everything.
My ears are ringing.
The woods are soggy;
Water comes from all around,
Flowing and seeping.
The familiar bend,
Mysterious in the fog.
Unseen dog barks.
Is it mist or rain?
Soft moisture touches my face.
Clouds are descending.
Racing by the road,
Small waterfalls tumble down
Rushing to spring time.
With its fog lights on
Pick up truck swishes past me
Its tires slap wetly.
Inside, the goats bleat;
Outside, warm pungent hay smell;
I head for my door.
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