Kanne Fog

By , Brentwood, CA
The grass has the perfect shades. A yellow base. The patch of green. Slivers of brown. They look as if they are careless, but their style is so easily misconstrued. One's thoughts could be incorrectly correlated with the trees- some lone- some crowded. Although, some look distraught. The twists in the trees seem so just; they look awkward. But I don't mind, no- Not at all! They make me smile. Because they match the hills. And the grass. And the fog. The mist and the fog. The fog hides the rest of the icy scene. It's a perfect transition, I'm glad I can't see more. So I appreciate what I am offered. I almost start to miss the illuminicity though, but it is just over the hill. And now the clouds are elevated. Fluffy then thinning out towards the ends. Suspended in the air, so carelessly. The strands twine and wrap in different directions at the end. More interesting and majestic, as opposed to the awkwardness of the trees. I don't have that feeling anymore, though. The symphony isn't playing anymore. There isn't that same gift. Remorseful as to forgetting the "see you later," it won't be too long, hopefully. It won't be too long before my path reconnects and I see you again, hoping you are still the same. But nothing could replace the first time I saw those perfect shades of grass. And the hills. And the Fog. The mist and the Fog.





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