Fog changes everything.
Wild grape vines become a decoration for the oak tree...
and spider webs festoon the cedars like ornaments on a Christmas tree.
On closer inspection, I can't find the spiders,
but their handiwork leaves no doubt that they've been here.
Even the familiar road becomes unfamiliar,
like something from a fairy tale.
The pattern of the forest is simplified, a single tree isolated.
I cannot see the One who made the fog on this misty morning,
but His fingerprints are everywhere.
He also made the stars.