Fog

Fog

is thick.

it

creeps

as the world

sleeps

and all is made

quiet.

gray.

it masks the Moon

shrouds the Stars

and in the absolute

silence,

the utter

stillness,

the Trees

shudder,

slightly.

the

Fog

drips

down

in tendrils

where the streetlights

cast their

lazy

yellow

glow

upon all

below

and the air grows

thicker.

cooler.

and somewhere,

in the suffocating

silence,

the stifling

stillness,

something

sighs,

softly.

The Sun approaches.

It casts its

golden, arrogant rays

down

through that thick blanket

that is the

Fog

The Sun

chases the

Fog

taunts the

Fog

dares the

Fog

to challenge its

Unarguable Glory.

the

Fog

declines,

the

Fog

resigns,

and the

Fog

draws back,

back into

the Hills,

back

into Nothingness,

and the Skies

are Clear.

the

Fog

is

gone.