Skin Of Fog
Fog furs the new-thawed ground,
felts brown husks in grey
as if winter had never been
A self-disguising spray
blurs the letters on my wall
as if there'd been no scarlet scrawl,
just a wound of air rough-covered with
a gypsy's laugh,
fog's soft uneasy peace
dead at the first sign of heat.
posted for real toads
Weekend Challenge: Flash Fiction 55 Plus
Kerry's plus this month is to add a color. Mine is the color of fog.
I had planned to take a complete break, but I have not missed a 55 since the Garden picked up the G-Man's torch. I am not yet re-entering the fray, so comments continue to be disabled, but I can't let the occasion pass. Thanks everyone for reading, as always, and I will get back to you soon.
Image: The Pont de Courbevoie. 1886, Georges Seurat
Public domain via wikipaintings.org