What do you see in the mist?

Nothing but mist. An air-borne haul of whiteness. I walk towards it and it recedes from me. I walk backward and it comes back.

What do you see in the mist?

Nothing but mist. But I hear the call of a tawny owl. Her voice belongs to the mist’s assonance. I recall in my valley she swept down on a shoulder-wing, poised on a lime bough against indigo twilight, her hoot shivered through me like a string of mist then she floated swiftly over the scout hut.

What do you see in the mist?

Nothing but mist. But in the back of my mind comes a marching of Roman soldiers with armour’s jingle down a long straight tunnel. Am I scrying or does the land scry in me?

What do you see in the mist?

Nothing but mist. And its blue-white boundary. Between my world and your world. Your trees of leaning darkness. Wild animals gathering in a hedge of eyes. Slanting roofs and rafters. Bright, restless laughter echoing from fairy hearth fires with bitter log-crackle and pungent smoke clouds.

What do you see in the mist?

The god who was born from the mist, taller than the trees with an eye of moon filling the field. Yet somehow here beside me. I am no longer seeing in the mist but belong to it.

Mist in Well Field

3 thoughts on “What do you see in the mist?

  1. Hi Lorna, what a gorgeous piece of writing, thank you for sharing it. The image of the owl is haunting, it reminds me of the owls I see in the margins of the woods around my house; otherworldly and like spectres as they move from tree to tree. You live in a place that is beautiful and has so much history and ancestors for you to explore. My mother was a born and bred Lancashire lass but moved south when she was in her twenties, I moved further south and am now living in the mountains of France – also haunting and wild in its own way. Its so lovely to have come across your blog, I think there are many things I will enjoy reading here. I am studying the bardic level of the OBOD course this year and hope to go onto the ovate level next year as I love working with threes and plants x

  2. Here in the mountains between two large rivers, and with my stream out back, i get plenty of mist rolling down the mountain and down along the stream, and it is fairly easy to tap into the past when i look in directions that show no apparent sign of modern civilization. Here i see the spirits of the tribes of “the People” as the AmerIndians calls themselves, and a few French and German settlers, and the fey always peeking out to see if it is OK to come out, and on this property it IS OK as i welcome their presence into this protected land. Blessings.

  3. Becoming mist …. Certainly a portal to Faery.
    The counterpointing of sharp images (log-crackle, pungent smoke) with the drift of mist creates a space between to slip through … And meet the god!

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