A Rare Fog

A chorus of birdsong breaks the silence across the beautifully still water. In the distance, a black swan is gracefully meandering the lake. Sumptuous and thick is the white fog blanketing the land. I have only ten minutes and finding a pleasing composition is proving more difficult than anticipated. I want to stay. I want to sit and watch the birds go about their tireless tasks. They are different to me. They do not have more pressing matters at hand and so the misty scene remains. 

Garden of Sprites

After seeing this short poem, I couldn't help putting these two together.

Garden of Sprites

By Lyndsey Hylton

I sit in the garden

on a small marble bench

beneath the sun.

The roses bud,

and the lilies grow.

The water glows and makes music

as it falls down the stream

of little waterfalls.

I follow the stream

into a land of beauty

and wonder.

I walk around to see wild flowers,

patches of four leaf clovers

and small rainbows.

I follow them to find no gold,

but to find a smaller garden.

Little Sprites dancing

in the middle of a circle.

They dance in little trebles,

and hornpipes.

A celebration it seems.

I didn't wish to intrude,

but I found myself

gazing in amazement

as I sat in the

Garden of Sprites.