The Expected Fog

Clear skies
befuddle my brain
as it expected to see fog,
wet and gray,
where morning sun
burns through
just enough
to create watercolor filters,
toning down the harsh edges,
bleeding one color into the next,
creating a leniency of shape,
shapelessness,
calmness.
Rather than struggle
with harsh light
on brilliant blue skies
I invite the fog inside
where it is welcomed.
Home.

Forced Focus

Dense fog

forces me to focus

on the world

in front of my eyes.

The horizon is a myth.

Turning the corner

reveals

November chrysanthemums,

burnt orange and butter

against

the gray-white fog,

brilliant color

planted

as though knowing

this day would arrive.

Revealed

only in the shroud.