The Fog

The fog lay offshore
Like a stone wall of grey,
A threat to the warmth
Of a bright summer day;
Far off in the distance
A foghorn is heard,
Oer the slow flapping wings
Of a sea-going bird.

It slowly crept in
Till it covered the land,
A soft hazy shroud
Over forest and sand;
No cool ocean breeze -
All was quiet and still,
The houses like shadows
On top of the hill.

It hung in the air
Just like soft fairy wings,
And tendrils of dampness
Curled round everything;
It blocked out the sun
And the stars of the night;
And the rest of the world
Seemed to vanish from sight.

The next day at dawn
Brought a wind from the west,
And banished the fog
Like an unwelcome guest;
Then the sun reappeared
Like a slow burning flame.
And the fog crept away
Just as soft as it came.

© Fay Herridge
Published in Story Quilt, Jul 2019


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