FOG!
Fog horn moans, mist is stealing the buildings one by one, It slowly creeps in one lamp post at a time. Insidious grey tendrils wrap around never let go, Lone man takes his chances, walks to his favorite pub. Does he ever get there? Ah, there's the rub. Fog so thick, to drive you have to open your door and look for the yellow lines. Stand on a blue runway light and look down and not see, only feel with your feet. Tomorrow with it's bright sunshine will find all the building there, just a brick or two missing. It works it's way slowly, Last year I lost five hours.
Mar 25 2011 © Steve Pray
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