The landscape fades into fog.
Light fades into grey, hard
to know if it is dawn fading into morning,
or dusk slipping into night.
Once you thought it mattered.
Once perhaps it did.
but now, after a lifetime of fog,
you have decided it does not.
You simply enjoy the beauty you can see.
The dozen steps ahead of you
You only take one at a time anyway.
About this poem
Life is funny. Nothing goes according to plan. And yet, we get there anyway.
The picture is local to me here in my little corner of Vermont.