Winter Fog

amorphous creeping, flowing fog a living wispy presence directed by Aeolus whim searching for substance and form to grasp and entomb finds unresisting, sleeping shapes in gray shadowed forest trees reaching and waving in the early morning cold with gnarled fingers tipped with a million tiny blood veins frozen and waiting for juice quietly, hungrily, the fog flows over delicate linear, earth-tethered artwork with a fine web of liquid glass distant glowing half moon illumines the reflective glossy lacy tracery with a million reflective sparkling points slowly the gray above turns to light then royal blue then shades of pink and orange set the stage for an explosion of brightest yellow as the Sun’s brilliant glowing golden rays refract the tips of an infinity of tiny liquid-coated artful threads I sit riveted in my wicker and marvel at the wonder of Mother once again