The mist clings in pockets, unhindered it rests. It fills the land with shadows of eerie moisture, penetrated by branches and spires, reflecting the colour of the sky. 

On still days when the ground sticks to my feet, I feel the season turn and leave. Its farewell letters littering my path like a lovers notebook when love is lost. 

It’s in these moments I become stuck, but willingly so. The land prepares to slumber and I am immersed here. Soon the storms will rake over this ground and my footprints will be lost.

Jumping puddles, leaping over reflections cast by time. I feel the mud splatter against my clothing and I wish I could take root, right here in the shadows amongst the mist.