Fog. Sitting on top
Published in
1 min readOct 5, 2018
of a brave, brown mountain off Highway One-oh-One,
clouding its eyes
obscuring everything the mountain can see.
The fog sits on top of her like a ghost
and I could tell that underneath
that thick veil
the mountain is rubbing her eyes.
She cannot believe – or maybe she does – the fog is there;
Oh! What to do, lone, lone, pretty mountain?
Her piedmont churns; her bosom sucks in the fog — it seems.
Her heart aches,
as I pass her by
I know
within some hours
this fog will lift.