Tuesday, December 9, 2008

What lingers in the fog?

It creeps its way through the back woods and travels along the vacant pathways. Silent, as it descends down the wooden stairs and into the back yard. Gently rolling over the patio, it spreads itself between the flower planters; the cedar absorbs the mist and hides it in their porous beams. As the water beads and drips to the concrete the puddles vibrate and spread. The tiniest waves make their way up to the door and partially reform into a blanket of white that curtains the glass. I look out, unsure. I begin to slide the door open and peer into the vapors. Seeing nothing I step, onto the patio “ARRHHH!!!!” the water sinks through my slippers and soaks my socks. Wet feet, wet feet, stunned and lingering in the fog.

Don’t bother asking me where this came from; I honestly have no idea. It just came out. Sometimes my brain just wonders like that. I’m told that it’s only insanity if you’re poor, otherwise it’s eccentric. Crap! I guess that means I’m nuts, huh? Oh well, today I shall go on my merry little crazy way.


Dave King said...

Now to me that is a brilliant piece of prose poetry. Where it all comes from is the eternal mystery. Just be thankful that it does - should you ever get to find out, though, ley me know, I'll go there.

maeve63 said...

Thanks Dave, you always have such nice things to say :-)

Bigby P. Wolf said...

I dig the dark stuff. I wish I could do the dark stuff.