I woke up this morning to magic.

   Overnight a thick bank of fog moved in. It erased the boundaries of my small world.Somehow this made it seem more intimate rather than more confining. I felt that I was on an island in the middle of the sea of man. With only myself to keep me company.
   I could hear the distant sounds of traffic but not see the road. Unseen birds chirped and whistled among the heavily misted trees. Tree frogs sang in chorus around an invisible pond. A fish splashed somewhere nearby...the fountain chuckled and I jumped at the heavy thunk of a small branch as it dropped on the roof of my mobile home. I swear I heard the snort of a possible unicorn followed by the light tinkle bell laugh of a fairy.
   My attention was captured instantly and I spent some long moments out there on my porch, drinking in the exotic sights and sounds of the morning...I could feel the fog caressing my skin with a tingling coolness. I heard the soft sigh of it as it eased it's way between the limbs of a nearby tree. I felt the pressure of this nearly invisible being as it wrapped me tightly in its embrace. I could picture this benign being as it gathered me up enticing me to join it in it's dance.
   I went back inside with some reluctance. Knowing that all to soon the rising sun would burn away the morning magic revealing the grim reality that lay beneath. This following is a poem written about another foggy morning. It's in my book "Overgrown Garden," a collection of nature poetry, now available as an e-book on Amazon for $4.99. Enjoy.

Fog

Foggy day. Foggy night.

The worlds been wrapped in gossamer.
Enraptured and captured,

I stare in startled awe.
Trees are wrapped in misty threads,

dancing to the tunes trapped in their heads.
White starry eyes pierce the veil,

revealing the neighbors daily trek.
To a far off land where work is king,

I hear their motors cough and creak.
In the distant cover a tomcat snarls,

In answer another screams.
Their clash is revealed in bits and threads,

through fog drifting softer than a dream.
White ghostly fingers caress my face.

Cool fingers touch my soul.
Shivers of delight race down my spine,

and play tug-of-war with my toes.
I creep reluctant back to my smoky lair,

fog dust sparkling on my hands.
And recover lost senses,

Left in the fairyland of fog.