I have not been more at peace nor been closer to my true being than our time here, in the wilds of Alaska, surrounded by mountains, glaciers, and each other.
The path through the heavy pine and white fog will become the destination you choose.
This reader suggested poem is “Fog” by Carl Sandburg. The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Poem shared from the following resources. http://carl-sandburg.com/fog.htm http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174299
Sometimes word just get in the way of the image. The image speaks everything we want to say and everything we are afraid to say, and everything we are unable to say.
A video by Twisted Root Studios of fog racing across Lake Superior where it is -20 with spring-like sun.
This poem was written as a response to the visual prompt at Northography. We walked the shoreline into the thick fog. Guided by instincts closed eyes and the way feet touch the ground we fell into the fog. Days passed as we felt safe, held by something we did not know or understood. Questions fell […]
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Morning purple sky becomes a thick icy fog consuming the landscape until the only path, the only way forward is through the white veil with eyes closed and the future in my hands.
Who or what is God? Thinking back… I found myself wallowing in the void, self-created and endless. Days had no definition, no number – fueled by the routine I let go of hope, giving myself in. I let the fog consume the landscape until the last light I saw disappeared and I no longer had […]
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