It is an innocence more than a gentle mist, that
dream sans cruel reality - the creek expands in
it - road consumed in mantled grey, an artefact
of gloom you’d say were you afraid a sun won’t
rise to chase the dank away; we see it as a gift,
something free returned for being here, they’re
scenes of spirits blessed in guilesness, all sage
to views uplifting mood within its countenance
And then the sun breaks through amazing with
its rays enhancing views you seldom see - the
shadows playing in this gauzelike empathy of
spider’s webs enhanced in mist adrift, crystals
lifted into glistening gem-like artifice - a fragile
beauty gifted where the waking eyes will see
© 4 May 2015, I. D. Carswell
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