I grew up in hill country, where fog was rather common. I still identify waking up, the beginning of the day, with fog that lingers in the valleys.
It's something like the fog that lingers in my own head ... beading on the cobwebs there ... but that's another story.
Meanwhile, today's poem:
ON WAKING
The dense gray fog, that
silent stalker of valleys,
crept in like a dream
while we slept, lingered,
defying the sun's efforts
to take back this place
where the sassafras shares
a hillock with honeysuckle,
outdoing the dew itself,
globules riding a coolness
that speaks of changes
coming, a shift of seasons,
a briskness that will make
the covers more precious
in the morning, gentle fire
like a warm embrace when
evening brings us home.
©
2001(originally published in Waterways)
***
Today's word: embrace
Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:
My immediate reaction to your comment, Featheredpines, was that I had done my job well ... but then I was reminded of what I so often say ... and I think it's true, especially of poetry: So much depends on what the reader brings to the poem. Bottom line: I glad you "can almost smell the wet, green mornings from here."
2 comments:
Sassafras, honeysuckle, dew and fog remind me of a few places where I've lived over the years... Wonderful memories. I can almost smell the wet, green mornings from here...
You are so modest :)
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