Fog

Each person sees the world through different senses

Fog did not come
on little cat feet
like Carl Sandburg wrote.

Not for me.
Instead,
it arrived with stealth
like a stalker.

Icy wool
it sat silent,
tangled in the trees
watching
as I walked to town
surrounded by hills.

Without the roar of cars;
the rumble of the city,
the fog might have offered
a gateway to tranquility,
one step from God,
a place to dance with one’s thoughts.
________________________

 See My Splendid Concubine, historical fiction by Lloyd Lofthouse

“
I was struck by the beauty of the cover, and I certainly was not disappointed by the book’s contents. A fascinating illumination of nineteenth-century Chinese culture and the complex Englishman Robert Hart, the father of China’s modernization. Hart’s struggles adapting to Chinese culture, always feeling the pull and force of his Victorian British background, are compelling. His relationships with his concubine and his concubine’s sister are poignant—the novel is as much a study of the complexities of love as it is anything else. A powerful novel whose beauty exceeds that of the book’s cover.” Writer’s Digest judge, 2008

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Reviews

[Shellie]

Love the poem, 'icy wool' now thats great wording! i imagine what you write, I live in the upper region of the Blackwater Valley and th fog lies thick between, its lovely but dangerous, but your piece really makes sense, when u enter the fog you see you nothing and noone sees you. its given me an idea for a piece actually!!!