The Fog
Fog hovers over the meadow. It’s beauty blurred and faint. The trees barely visible through this blanket of darkness. If only the wind would blow and reveal the flowers that long to be seen. Or the sun would pierce with all it’s might through the haze. Even the birds sit motionless fearing their own song. Does the meadow know the fog will clear? Or does it stay in this void waiting for it’s own death.
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