Mist

 
Mist transforms the world it flattens figures and forms where once there were 3-D sketches the beaver lodge half-sunk in the water hides behind frail curtains of mist trees are the stumps of ship masts wrecked and abandoned a clammy damp clamps chill waves along the coast as white wraiths gather the world is gift-wrapped and distant it no longer answers when you call your words are ghosts echoing a lost horizon sometimes there is a sparkle on the waves other times the coast ghosts slow and silent an occasional glimpse of the sun brightens the clamp down of cloud but today is a lost day foundering in the mist though paths and people and places can still be found