Fog

Fog softens the bare branches and sits heavy on the forest floor. The trees fade layer by layer into the distance. The billowing, shifting haze uproots the land—creating imaginary islands that float in a soft dream world.

We could be anywhere. The most familiar paths are new and alive with mystery. Unknowing, we have slipped into the thin places, where spirit things dwell.

Time expands in the fog. There is no sun to mark the hours. No sound to beckon us home. There is only what we choose to do with our steps as our feet move through the damp, rustling leaves.