Misty morning

As I was driving home, the sun peaked over the mountain and the morning mist seemed to float just above the ground.

Early Morning Mist

A light and wispy blanket covers the fields
No deeper than the shoulder of a man,
Drawn from the frosty ground
By the first rays of the weakling sun
As it slowly steals the morning
From the wayward realms of night.
As ethereal and insubstantial, it is,
As the dreams that just an hour ago
Clouded my sleeping brain.
They vanished just as quickly into dawn,
And I was drawn from sleep
To go and walk amongst the mist,
Evading all responsibility for unconscious thoughts.
That is now the remit of the rooks
Assembled in the hedgerow oaks,
And the solitary hare.
~ Pete Thompson, from Poems and Paths