The Mist in the Hollow

In the Hollow of the night; it takes many shapes...
A blanket--soft, like brushed suede.
Wispy and frail, like a newborn soul.
Ephemeral and ghosty, gathering in ragged bits.
A vertical sheet, numinous and glowing.
The Mist strokes the earth, grass,
surrounding trees,
and takes a part of them with it--
a breath of pine, an exhalation of damp soil,
the fragrance of autumn dried grasses.
And the Mist leaves a moist zephyr of its self behind...
a shivery, wet caress.
The Mist revels in the dark shroud of night,
or the dim gray of a wintry cold morning.
Winter and autumn are its preferred seasons,
yet it will pay a visit on the odd spring day.
It is dark and creeping on a moonless night--
bold and daring when the moon is full and bright.
In the harvested fields of an October evening,
that blanket of white hugging the damp earth, beckons--
Calling all souls.
The Mist in the Hollow embraces me. It does not part for me when I enter,
but instead becomes me,
fuses with me--the shimmer of it...
the mystery.
The hidden aspect of its Nature reveals to me
what others only perceive as gray, and obscuring.
On a still night, the eddy you espy in the Mist, is me;
my spirit, going for a moonlit stroll.
The sole bit of shredded gray, which rolls o'er the headstone of the dead--is me.
There, in that frothy nimbus above the lake, or the river; I can be found.
Welling up from the Hollow in the weald, to ghost amid the trees; you'll find me in the brume.
When you enter the Mist in the Hollow, does it part for you?
Or do you get wet?

Obsessed, am I--this night--with the Mist.

~~*~~

The Mist is the pall that hangs like drapes over the lake, or swamp during the twilight hour.

And, it is the drizzle that mingles with sea air and ghosts over the breakers, then scurries past the beach and on to the cli ffs. It is thick and tangy with brine as it creeps under doorways, wends 'round drowsy towns, knocks on the door of the widow on the hill, brushes the children's swing back and forth in the churchyard, and then travels on.

Copyright 2000 by Kathy Pippig Harris

Kathy lives in Central California's San Joaquin Valley with her husband and furry family. She is a weekly columnist for the publication Frank Talk and a published author of five novels. She states, Were it not for her need, desire, and love of writing -- she would surely go mad!

Author:: Kathy Pippig Harris
Keywords:: Mist,Hollow,Nature,Fog,Mystical,Magical,
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