In the morning the fog rises just above the grass covering the fences off portion of pasture out along 17 North.
The sun was peaking over the horizon, the day just beginjing, the quiet road inviting and steady, he everything was waking up, innocent and renewed.
(Approaching summer, the height of life, expressed along the broad horizon and the circle of life shown in the circling vultures out over the road.)
In the mountains the fog rose high above the trees,
like a blanket thrown over the top of Tecumseh as if its peak were a bed waiting for it to settle over its mass.
And now there are the veiks of foggy distance between her and I, she so beautiful and me remembering all that adolescent darkness and how it seems like it will never end.
Then there came the fog that descended over his mind, coming out of nowhere and without explanation, an unwilling participant in the drama and deep.darkness that followed.
Later on that day the fog had lifted and driving home the fenced in pasture was illuminated by the slanted rays of the late spring sun.
T.S. Deary – P.A.F.M.