A sIlver grey sky as you drive to the diner.
The mountain and tree lines grow faint in the fog.
One or two trees stand out in relief.
Your tires swish on the road,
the remnants of yesterday’s rain.
A monotone lullaby to start your morning,
all of it a metaphor
for the beautiful uncertainty
that is your life.
About this poem
A foggy morning here in Southern Vermont.