Today, I’m trying something different. Here comes a poem…
afternoon fog lingers over the countryside
———-
fields do not roll…
they stretch, one after another
after another
after…
———-
the air I breathe is solid and white
it glimmers and the sunshine cannot break its hold
———-
as I pass by,
the silver patches
of tree branches laden with glisten & glaze
loom from the haze
winking
———-
is this real? I wonder
or is it all a dream?
———-
As I drove across the prairie yesterday afternoon, heading home from a visit to my college town, I found myself on unfamiliar roads in an afternoon fog. The sun was shining, but I could not see more than twenty feet in front of me. The land in that part of the state is unbelievably flat, with a big, open sky. Everything was white–the air felt fathomless and empty. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon, the trees were covered in hoar frost. I pulled over to the side of the road, got out of my car, and spent several minutes taking in the view.
It felt like I had been dropped into a fairytale. I’ve never seen anything like it.
