While Haze was up and out in her back garden taking pictures of these
I was still wrapped up in the silky web of sleep. Overslept the alarm! So Haze wrote this with me in mind
This Fog has no voice
It crept in at dawn.
To drip..drop..mist upon your eyes,
Shrouding you with wet wool
When sleep would not release you
From your pillow of dreams.
Outside the wet webs of waiting spiders
Hang with silvered globes,
Unaware of their own beauty.
A tension sits heavy on the still air
Pauses…then trembles ..waiting..
For the warm breath of the Sun!
Poem: Hazel Brown
I eventually re-emerged from down there, and flapped off to work
But I felt dream-woven into the bottom of that silky web all day.
Photos: Hazel Brown