The fog after the rain , a poem
Rain falls all day in the old valley,
All the woodlands swimming underneath the steaming fog.
What peaceful sound I hear,
softly rings out of the sparkling
Woods and fields,
song of a thousand winter birds
announcing the setting sun,
Who sings loudest, after the rains.
These late winters day have been full of early morning mist and fog, many of the farmers keep their animals enclosed in barns or walled yards at this time of year.
I came across this great scene last weekend while out walking in the mist , an old farm house and its yard used these days for this very function.
Misty Monday Mornings.
Some Monday Mornings start full of purpose, the weekend has revived your spirits and you have a clear focus of what your aims are for the week. Other Monday mornings you just don’t know what your doing, you have aims but they just are not in focus sitting in a misty haze and you just cannot reach out to grab them.
This Monday morning, well ?
It was a wonderful Morning for a walk to clear my mind and try to find some direction, the mist was down on the local fields again and a blue and very peaceful haze just floated about the trees.
After Lunch time I hope the mist will lift ….. ?
I find nothing to fill the emptiness,
Of a very cold grey moment
In the endless time of my waking up attempts,
When feeling is painful and the morning is fogged,
Time comes and goes as I try to understand,
Understanding becomes big, huge as a true thing can be,
Truth is relative they say,
Points of view and ways to see,
Interacting is so self defined,
Perceptions float when empty seems deathlike,
Silence in and out is not necessarily peace,
Nothing is rational in a sleepy fogged mind,
But the sun has no fault for this,
I decide to get up from my warm bed,
In a fogged, cold, grey and empty morning,
Carry on my sleepy, fogged mind,
With the conviction this certainly is a different day.
By : Mirela Kapaj