The fog of morning’s not only
in my brain. It
casts its silken
net over rocks
and roads, wraps itself around trees,
and catches cars
and cows in its
fine mesh. Sometimes,
for a moment, the sun slices
through, but so far
nothing’s outside
its ghostly reach.
JDG
Very nice images.
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Joan, kinda like the fog of mourning, maybe? xo, Susan
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