Walking With Mist

cold-morning-mist-and-rutting-elk-move-michael-s-quinton

Photo courtesy of Michael S. Quinton

Here is a poem I wrote in July this year that seems to capture this season of Hallowmas that we are now shifting into. The mornings are colder. The windows are kissed with condensation. The morning mists linger a bit longer.

All Hallows is almost here, and so are the Ancestors. 

Namaste.

“The mist is only an illusion.
It challenges your courage and questions how far you are willing to go.
Walking the mist filled path is a lifetime journey.
With many rivers, bends, and hills.
With interesting and mythical creatures, who just so happen to be your next door neighbors.
What you learned from Mother Goose, was just the turn of the iceberg.
Because at the end of the day,
The mists part, and the stars shine true the way as clear as the Sun.
And you but only have to step forward,
Through the mist.
Towards?

Avalon.”

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