Foggy Paths

Fog, they promise, will lift.
no matter how long it lingers,
how thick and dark,
its day will come.
The sun will emerge
and there will be horizons once again.

But this seems a fantasy
as you blunder in the half-light,
day after day,
almost seeing, but not quite,
almost on the path,
but never with certainty.

Perhaps you could sit
and wait,
but that is not your way
and so you stumble
and find errant paths
and occasionally too,
you find beautiful places
you can almost see.

About this poem.

Some days I think I know where I am going. Others I don’t.

Tom