© Ester Rogers Photography
We know the mist
when in a morning of indecision,
glance further, hope for a sign,
yet we walk in wander seeing the same.
On an occasional daybreak,
we recognize fog,
a surreal enveloping storm of breeze,
teasing the ground,
to allow our mind to imagine,
a surreal perhaps spiritual mystique.
Speak of its beauty,
in delightful tones,
without any worry,
we watch the heat of morning
soon melt away its special fabric,
and go about our day.
Yet, deep inside the wandering,
when life has allowed us to travel,
beyond the normalcy of time,
into a reflection clouded by judgment,
its there we begin to feel
certain descents, perhaps ghouls
would inhabit our lonely minds.
There in the deep forest
where damp bark in wet soils,
we recall a need to hang on
perhaps use that alternate route,
we might see the distance,
without ever having to experience,
the certain beauty of losing one’s mind.