Sometimes the morning wakes up wearing fog. On this day, it tugged at my heart, and a poem was born. I’m not normally a writer of Haiku, but this is what came on this wet, whispery morning.
I watched the night become the day and then the elements began to play.
Air and water reached out to dance, in silence they allowed me a glance,
I saw their whisps of slate and white, reach, and touch, and then take flight.
Then Fog stood by the pines in the yard, a filmy, mysterious, elusive guard,
Nearly hiding the doe and her hungry fawn, as the new day stretched with a gentle yawn.
Then as the sun began it’s chase, Fog melted into its fiery embrace.
(I took this photo of where the deer were in the fog, but they’d left when I got back with my camera.)
Copyright Joy DeKok 2011
Until Next Time,