Ann Keiffer

The Fog

Sometimes in the evening
I can see the silver-gray fog,
like a billow of cotton candy
spun from air and water,
creeping silently up the hill,
toward the house where I live.

I go to sleep looking out
the bedroom window
across the valley at the
night shapes of mountains
and the dark countryside
dotted with street lamps
and houses.

But when I wake in the
middle of the night,
the fog has reached the
windowsill, and I am
in a magic house flying
just above the clouds.

Some nights the fog climbs
even higher while I sleep
and makes the moonlight eerie.
The windows become translucent.
The bare oak tree outside
the windows, a line drawing
in charcoal, softly smudged.

Photo Credit: John Keiffer


About Ann

I am interested in the strange beauty of brokenness, in transforming possibility in difficult times, in how we heal even when we can’t get better, in the alchemy of surrender, in the interplay of light and shadow, in the bounty of everyday wonders, in the gift of laughter…and writing about it, all and everything.

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