Category: Mists

Monday Poem: The Frozen Fields

The Frozen Fields We drift through mists that hide the day. The night will close in on us, and the cold Will make us huddle protectively inside. The rain will fall, almost frozen, hard Like the ice of sadness that freezes Then shatters the delicate heart of one Who has known love and seen it die Alone and uncared for, out in the frozen fields Of a time lost to it and bare of all traces Of the hearts it once held, beating together Inside itself, as though something so strong Could never be beaten or could ever die.

No Sun or Stars

That winter was cold and dark, colder and darker than any winter I remember. It did not snow that much, so it was not a proper cold winter. It rained, and the mornings were dull and misty. Everything felt damp, with a coldness that wearied rather than chilled. I remember longing for one of those ice-cold winter days when the snow lies deep, and the sun shines, with a cold that is somehow brighter, sharper, more invigorating. Not one of these dreary days of cold and damp, when you are not sure when the night ends and the day starts.…

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The Beast of the Fog

Something crawls out from the realm of possibility. The fog lies deep, solid over the sea. There is nothing to see except the still water with muted waves lying below the greyness of the heavy cloud. It is as though the clouds have real weight, pressing down on the sea, ironing out the waves to nothing more than a suggestion of movement. Hella has her hands raised towards the thick bank of fog. Whether she is warding it off or entreating it to come closer is hard to tell. Her eyes are closed in concentration. Her arms, stiff with tension,…

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The Mists of the Forgotten Seas

Far across the Forgotten Seas, there lies a country lost in the mists of distance. Few travellers ever arrived there, and fewer returned to tell their tales. So many sailors’ wives stood for far too long staring out at the horizon, waiting for menfolk who never returned. Those few that did return never lost that look of misty distance in their eyes. Even fewer still would speak of what they’d seen. For a long time people, adventurers, in particular, wondered what great secrets that land lost in the distant mists kept to itself. They haunted and prowled the dockside taverns…

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The Guardians and the Village

From up there, he saw the village spread out below him, just behind the small narrow beach and trapped there between the sea, the cliffs, and the swamp behind the village that kept Shakesbridge separate and isolated. Up here, his ancestors had built the Tower; they claimed to watch out for invasion from the sea. But now, Jim wondered if the castle wasn’t also here to watch the village as much as to stare off towards the horizon. At this time in the morning the village, as usual, was covered by mist. Various buildings, houses, shops and the pub emerging…

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A God No More

It was cold. Shreena wrapped the blankets tight around herself. She was not used to the cold. She had almost forgotten how cold this world could be. She opened one eye and glanced around. The sun was rising through the trees. She could see her breath on the cold air, rising from where she lay. She wanted, more than anything, to stay where she was and wait for it to get warm again. No, that was wrong. She threw off the blankets and grabbed at her clothes, struggling with the unfamiliarity of them and the unfamiliarity of how the cold…

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The Procession

Even so, there should have been something, some way of knowing. These things emerge out of the mists of the mornings and then are gone, like dreams… or like nightmares. Julie turned and then turned again. She could hear, or at least, there was a memory of hearing something. The shapes had come out of the thick mist before her, passing along the path she’d walked down towards the beach. At first she’d spoke, assuming the first one was someone like her, out walking the dog. Then the others had emerged from the mist too. They were all in black…

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What The Stories Tell Us

Stories tell us so much. They tell us how the day begins and where the sun goes when the night creeps across the land. They tell us what the animals are and where they hide, out in the mystery of this world. Stories told me of the mists and how, one morning she would be there waiting for me. The stories did not tell me her name, but then the gods do not use the human names we give them. That I was to be the one, I never doubted when I heard the stories of how the goddess would…

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The Long Fog

The fog has not lifted for days now. It is dull, cold damp world that looms suddenly out of the thick greyness, taking us all by surprise. Sound is deadened, muted. We feel cocooned in some thick wadding that wraps around our world trapping us all inside. At first, we all assumed it was more of that freak weather some people like to get excited about. But the weather is in constant flux, and there are such rare extremes far more often than we remember. This fog, though, is no ordinary fog. It may not just be the weather either.…

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The Golden Days Of Autumn

Our summer is waning now as the year grows older and what was once green is now fading. The autumn has its golds, reds, and oranges, giving it a sense of something still possible, even though the days themselves fade into grey. The night spreads, growing stronger, longer. Our mornings are lost in mists and the narrowing of all our horizons. We can no longer see as far as we once did and our days are no longer long enough. Each night brings with it the harsh promise of the cold winter. Each day brings a wind, which blows down…

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