INTO THE MYSTERIOUS MIST

A magical mist lingers mysteriously over the open field.

Shapes of trees and cottage rows just made out through the fuzz of fog,

A hesitating stillness awaits within

Yet, the woods are all but still.

Scurrying, scampering, urgent feet patter through crisp leaves,

Their spines and outlines bone-white

Spurts of dashing, trembling, tearing through undergrowth

The chase is on, sound magnified but unseen.

A velvet-green hedge rises tall, its grey secrets hidden in soft branches.

Look closer: little buds covered, lulled into a frozen embrace, acquiescence enveloped

The tiniest, most delicate dewdrops, forever waiting to plunge downwards

Crossing the field, each blade of grass wears a crystal coat of sharp spikes

Each footstep crunches and sinks into the mulch beneath the winter carpet

Until the great expanse of a pond appears.

Each ripple caught, held, kept in a moment

Each leaf underneath floating, motionless and still

Frozen time etched into the frozen surface.

The opal mist hangs heavier,

Settling, curling, reaching, ensnaring

Stand still too long, and you’re part of the picture…

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