The fog was thick this morning, playing its usual tricks on eyes and minds that weren’t seeing what they usually see.
Sometimes you see ‘other’ things in the fog or on its other side. Have you noticed how your senses re-act when normal conditions in a certain space are altered – like driving to town and it’s blacked out….an eerie feeling enters your mind and body….the norm is not….fear alerts you.
Driving in fog that is up to your windshield is breathtakingly scary…it nearly immobilizes you. We don’t know what we see….we sometimes try to help our eyes by guessing or thinking we see something….our mind races, knowing not where it’s going or from where it’s coming…. everything is ‘clouded.’ We fear ‘checkmate.’
Foggy mornings, “they’ll” sometimes show
and if you look real hard, you will see the glow
through the inner logs at the base of the hill,
and don’t be surprised if “one” flies around
and checks the perimeter from the top on down.
One morning I saw her, on the ground, near the road
singing and dancing in a puddle, for a toad,
who didn’t seem that interested; more bothered, I’d say
‘cause he wanted a drink and she wanted to dance
and wanted him to watch her, though it was taking a chance.
But the next thing I saw was her backing up slow
and pointing her finger at the toad, to go
and get a drink and then get out
‘cause she wanted to get back in and finish her song
which she did, and she waved, as the toad got along.
Then I saw what was fire, at the base of the hill,
and out came a fairy in a bright colored twill
outfit, that glistened and shined so brightly, it blinded
me and when I could see again , there must have been ten
fairies dancing and playing ‘round the puddle, by then.
And, as usual, my camera was too far away
and I thought I saw, Jolie, who I saw that day
when she danced and frolicked to the dragonfly’s beat,
then flew towards the sun when I ran to the stream
perchance to get closer to this recurring dream.
The screech sound was eerie from the hawk up high
who angled down sharply, down from the sky,
toward the puddle, by the road, where the fairies all danced,
now scurrying around quickly to dress and to dry
for their wings that, if wet, won’t allow them to fly.
But then what I saw, I didn’t see any more
for the fog now had thickened right down to the floor
of grass that surrounded the logs on the pile.
And even the puddle, full of life, now was still
and everyone was safe again…. out on Fairy Hill.