Fog in the Fields
There was a time fog weighed me down,
the not knowing, not seeing what was beyond,
paths and roads disappearing far sooner
than felt safe. It was a tense place, fog,
too full of mystery for comfort.
Colors muted. Steps tentative,
leaning forward, listening, eyes straining.
No more. I have seen too much.
I have survived too much.
Whatever is beyond is simply there.
I can not anticipate beasts or beauty,
they each will come when they come,
and I will love and live and fight through whatever is there
when the time comes.
And for today? Today I see what is here.
In front of me.
There are beauties and beasts enough
here in this place and time
to savor and survive,
including the fog in the distance,
which has become a distant wonder,
and no more, an abstract border
between now, and tomorrow.
About this poem
One of my life lessons – worrying less about what I don’t know.
Which is a lot.