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.