The hills were lit with morning’s flame,
Though not a soul yet stirred or came.
The fog lay thick upon the land—
A hush the world could understand.
I dropped the bruised key to all I knew
Beneath a stone the moss clung to.
The wind came by and took my name,
And stirred a bird too tired for shame.
I thought, as any young fool might,
That running forward led to light—
That fog was just a veil to part
With steady breath and hopeful heart.
But halfway through, the rain began.
No warning from the sky or man.
It felt like words one dares not speak—
The kind that leaves the silence bleak.
I sat upon a cold, gray stone.
The trees around me stood alone.
And in the hush, I came to hear
My breath fell off a cliff of fear.
Some say the fog forgets the night.
Some say it waits to birth the light.
But I have wandered long and far—
With no clear end nor guiding stars.
Still on I go, through thick and thin,
Each step a journey deep within.
Not seeking paths that others see—
Just walking till I walk through me.
And now and then, the soft wind sighs,
A hand that brushes through the skies.