Early morning fog making the distinct indistinct, imbelishing
solid form in the shadows of obsecurity. If I put my weight
against
a shadow, will it hold the weight or will I fall into the
shadows of nothingness? A shadow reaches out, moving against
my cheek. When I
stretch out my hand the fog swirls, and the shadow is but
a caressing breeze. Still! I think
of you in the early morning fog. by Ron
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