Good old fog has a way of imitating an unclear mind where we conjure up those things that haunt us. There is a chill in the air from all that humidity running down the backs of our necks and intensifying what we think we see over what we can.
Sure glad you made it to the garage one more time, escaping that hideous unknown that's creeping out of the marsh and about to gobble you up… Yummy!
There's no doubt about it, Mother Nature, in whatever guise can be scary, as you so ominously describe in this poem. Thoughts of home, why am I not there, how can I get there in order to "comfort abide". Poems lie even within the mist. Nicely done. John
My book of poetry is being redone by me, I have a beautiful cover designed and the book will have a few more than 200 poems in it. I am going to have it printed on demand here in Canada. When it is done I will let you know when it is done and if anyo
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Sure glad you made it to the garage one more time, escaping that hideous unknown that's creeping out of the marsh and about to gobble you up… Yummy!
Ron
well done poet xo