It's damp, wet and gray;
The snow disappears into the fog.
I can't see the field

Ghost trees touch the sky;
Yellow car lights cut the fog.
The stream still burbles.

There is no sun now,
Only the soft endless fog
And the gray silence.

The raccoon is still;
No longer does it whimper.
It's part of the ground.

Two trees together
Their branches are intertwined
Like old wooden friends.

In the beat up house
Colored things scurry about.
The t.v. is on.

Crow calls in the fog;
It is nowhere to be seen.
There is just its cry.

It's noon in morning;
Thick fog hides the time of day.
Snow man is melting.