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Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #2235782
An autumnal poem about fog rising in the countryside
Evening falls chill on this autumn day,
The air is somehow alive. Stacks of cloud
Swell like blue fungus above the trees.
In the valley bottom, a shadowy presence forms
Amongst the skeletons of summer thistles.
Fog lies low, like mustering specters
Of a fallen army rising from their graves.
It slowly advances in waves across the field,
Like ripples when a stone's thrown in a lake.
Smooth as a silken train, fog rolls across the ground.
Boundary uncertain, misty arms stretch a path.
Leap like white horses across a hummock.
Trees on the hill float on the billowing sea.
Fog softens them to ethereal visions
Before condensing to obscure the view.
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