We creep;

ahead the pavement softens like ice in the sun;

melting edges envelope in a cushion of fog

as we hang on to the yellow line

the lifeline that leads us

through twisted mountain passes

alongside streams gorged

as rain streaks the windows,

splatters the underbelly

of our motorized beast.

Far away, across the undulating hills

and sea-valleys of mist and fog

the lamplight gleams

through the golden windows

of home.


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in home, nature. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Fog

  1. Libby says:

    Thanks for sharing – I remember such journeys, you describe it so well. Thanks for the memory.

  2. grannysu says:

    All ended well; home and fire and family 🙂 Then ending is worth the journey.

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