Morning mist

It's a cool late summer day -- the first day of frost.

Morning Mist

Before the sun breaks through the cool morning air

There hangs a fog above the lake.

Like ghosts that have no life yet moving constantly.

Changing shape as I stare.

One cannot tell, to look into the mist,

Whether sea or sky

'Til I see a flock of geese,

Not flying but swimming by.

Beauty, 'tis not always clear to see.

If color is the only thing that stirs ones fantasy.

But in the morning mist -- though a mystery,

There's a calm, peace and serenity.