RDP Wednesday: MIST
Do you know that
when the fog
crawls across the rocks, through the woods, across the lake
to my front door
I can hear it breathing?
That’s how I know it’s alive.
Do you know that when it reaches the edge of my yard-
the very edge of my yard where my porch light ends and the darkness begins
a thin dark line smudged at the edges
it sighs a little and stops where the light is
and I can hear the grass and flowers and the dry dead leaves on the ground popping like
corn in a cast iron pot, a treat from a long time ago?
Sometimes I forget to turn the porch light on
I forget to snap on the lamp in my living room window
and the mist crosses my yard to my house
and when it arrives it gently touches each panes of glass
it caresses each crack, each loose board
it takes it’s time before it creeps in and settles down with me
for the night
and it tells it’s stories to my shivering bones.