Morning Mist

 

Morning-Mist 

They were older now, yet every morning at 6 a.m. they walked.

They became children again, checking under the bridges for trolls

Skipping when they felt like it

Watching and listening to everything and laughing at life

 

Each morning was a different scene

In such a windy place this scene was rare

They looked at each other and understood

 

It’s all about perspective, she said

We can be the water; clear, fluid

and give ourselves time for reflection

Or we can be the cement path;

dark and immovable

If we be the water we are

the trees and the green grass

 

© Saria

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