The Fog

I am fueled by foggy mornings, moonlight, and starry skies.


In all innocence the fog is touching the tip of the trees. The forest
is silent. It doesn’t mind its invasion by such a light substance.
Lighter than a dance, than a hand.

This stepping out into the fog — this sudden coolness on the face,
this diffused environment … the body responds, then lets go.

Time and fog escape our grasp. But when I drive through a
visiting cloud, though limited to a (blissful) moment, I negotiate
directly with a cosmic happening. I domesticate an impersonal
part of nature.

Time is my country, fog is my land.


One Response to “The Fog”

  1. Anonymous says:

    WOW:):) This is sweet:):) Amazing.♡

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Shannon. 23. Photographer. Nature enthusiast. Tree lover. Cow petter. Ever-colorful hair. Music and wrestling fanatic.

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