Driving into the Fog

Driving into the fog on a drizzly morning

when the sun stayed hidden behind a shroud

of moisture, white and wet and cold around me,

clinging, a shadowed world, unseeing,

I barely saw their movement, scanning

the road ahead, two young does suddenly appearing,

unsure themselves where to go, back or forward,

no clear direction, as disadvantaged as I,

perhaps, in our low visibility, caught unaware

and focused ahead on the edges around us,

blurry and still and thinly veiled.

Cautious, these two soft figures startled, me, too,

and I slowed quickly, just to see them dissipate

into the woods beyond, swallowed up, nothing to show

they’d been there, to mark their presence,

two specters returning to their own mystical world

I cannot enter, cannot follow them to in their leaving,

and I wondered if I’d even seen them crossing

my path, paved and easy and away

into the fog on a drizzly morning, wet and cold.