rise along the ridgeline,
tracing our headlights back
to their source
as startled eyes in the dark woods edge
in the fog glanced glare.
Porchlights dim glow
thru the dense rich fog
showing the way to hidden homes
in the night’s smoky gloom.
The infinite patination of fog
on a dark ridge road,
foxed night air,
the color of tarnished silver mirrors,
reflecting only our headlights
as we head home.
I could so relate to your poem. We drove down to Atlanta in fog for most of the way. Coming back, steam was rising off the waters and made for a beautiful effect. Thankfully it did not cover the roads though.
Happy New Year!
do love the hidden home and hollows… hard to believe the beautiful rolling hills would be void of the life I saw when visiting… though you’ve brought a new life to them through the fog
How exquisite. I never thought of fog as patinated but it creates such a mood. I used to live on the coastside just south of San Francisco and there is something magical about fog for me–dangerous, perhaps, but full of mystery, much like life.
A foggy scene. You write if some how infinity exist within the unknown contents veiled by the fog. I love it. There are lots of things to think about and explore in this poem.
This is so lovely. I adore fog, the plus of living near water. Ghostly, ethereal…..love your “foxed night air”.