cloaked by freezing fog
dark apparitions hover --
memory of trees
Opening the gate this morning, I am wrapped in a pale blue muffler of freezing fog. A pair of white tails bounds into the woods, vanishing in a heartbeat, slashes of bright white swallowed by fuliginous white. The frozen lake gets a second coat of freezing fog, flocking every branch and vine. The blurred forms of dark pines along the shore seem like the mere memory of trees, phantoms floating between white and white.
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