There is nothing to see.

Dense fog

Straightened walls

Restrict me

Seem to make

my world smaller.

I can hear the geese

On faraway waters

Calling into the mist

Goldfinches

High and tinkling

The soft husharush

Of the south wind rustling

Tall dry grass

By the cobwebby gate

The crows are loving

the thrill of temporary blindness

Hurtling over the infinite edge

Howling with joy

And I love

The illusion of haste

As I race down the hill.

#poetry