Rampant, errant fog
Along a river’s shore,
Once caressing silt and log,
But it vanished just before
The stolen, wayward plumes
Along the glistening sand,
Kissed and missed the ground,
Then fled into a different land.
Mist surrendered fast,
Beneath spears of lowering light,
And silver swords that fight,
Shivering silver into glass.
And Dawn lay down at last.
Driving over a bridge one morning, I saw along the small river, sunbeams shifting through trees along the bank, filtering through rising mist. It was magical!
