Into the Mist
Stealthily, silently, moist leaves dragging,
I walk toward the cabin in the wood.
It's here somewhere.
But now there's only fog filled forest escorting me
forward. I'm not sure where.
There, in the distance, an opening
in the mist, and the trees.
It's an old road I'm following now.
Well grown over with moss and lichens.
There are spirits in the mist, it's said,
by ancient ones who know.
So, accompanied now by those spirits, ancient beings
from a long ago time, I feel at home, embraced
by age old rituals, comforted.
Soon the year will end, and a new one begin.
That's where I'm going. It's suddenly clear.
That crucible of chaotic endings and beginnings.
Mixed into the mist of past and future.
Vague, undefined and obscure.
Writing by Regina Stemberger