A walk in the Mountains

Mountain fog

The cloud creeps down the mountainside 

Belly to the ground, as though sniffing its prey. 

Nothing is sacred; nothing is safe 

From the cold, damp fogginess of its intrusion, 

Penetrating every crack and crevice;

A pervading darkness and dankness. 

The warm air holds its breath, prescient

Of its obliteration, as it capitulates 

To condensation and the first drizzle

Transpires as from the ground

Precipitating a cold and vicious, 

Slapping rain, that soaks to the core. 

For now, the cloud has won, but we shall

Look for the sun and the rainbow to come.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

Advertisement