Couldn’t sleep well last night so my mind went into composing poetry mode to help pass the time.


Our trees have disappeared
from the waist down
in this silent morning fog.

I walked into it, hoping to become
a misty grey blur.
It caressed me, teased me,
staying one step ahead of me.

But fog is not real.
The truth is,
we all slept in, everyone one of us.
We spent the morning hovering
between a detailed dream
and a vague reality,
while the trees looked out
above a low-hanging cloud.


People Watching

Look at them.
That couple holding hands
like two middle-aged teenagers
in love.