Strange is the mist

That has no face

That is

That was

That cannot be

Forever

That settles its breath

For miles

And cannot see

Where it was

Is going to be

Clinging to the mask

That will

Must

Break

Then rest in peace

Some other place

~ Gill McGrath © July 16    [photo taken 4.23 am July 6]

My little ode to the early morning mists which roll around  over the river at the bottom of the hill carrying on upwards ~ defining the  layers and dips beyond the ridge in turn revealing and masking the horizon~ only  to disappear  into  the  warmth of  the  rising sun.