Birds in the Mist

Misty in the morning. Quiet as you walk.
Here and there birds fly in and out of your vision,
disappearing in the soft grey wall.

Quiet as you walk. You forget
what your wife is always telling you,
just how quiet you are,

how you surprise her again and again
by the simple act of walking.
Invisible until you are there.

You feel invisible this morning.
It is not the worst feeling, being invisible,
not mattering, simply being

with no expectations or the needs of others
adding to your own, a strange soft
jigsaw of a life, fading in and out

like the birds in the mist.

About this poem.

I have often felt invisible in my own life. It was not true of course, but it is how I have felt.

I love walking in the fog.

From those two things, this poem.

The picture was taken down the road from my home in West Pawlet, VT.

Tom