The fog
I missed the fog
Catching only glimpses from a car window
Or a high point in the town
As it rolled up the trout streams
Easing over mossy boulders
Enveloping a tangle of stunted, bearded oaks
Concealing the rusty, Winter bracken
Of the moors
Leaving only ghostly tors
Hovering magically between valley and sky
I missed the frost
Crystallising every surface
In cloud shrouded valleys
A world once familiar
Lifted into a mysterious silent realm
Of white against white
All beauty given
Swelling in the intensity of its own being
Un-witnessed and safe
