Peace Like a Lifting Fog

This morning's heavy fog undulates like a heartbeat,

coils around each tree branch, each blade of grass,

each inch of my body, as I pull it around me like a cloak

there is no peace like a lifting fog

there is nothing so perfect as how

the tiniest twig on a branch on a trunk dressed in green lichen

can hold the weight of a sparrow

the cardinals phone each other through the fog,

a triangulation of whistles and song

and like the fat droplets of water that hang from the balcony railing,

heavy, suspended between two actions – clinging on and letting go -

I, too, am unwilling to let myself fall

I must stop comparing this place to the one I left

let myself fall, settle into new earth, and just be – here, in this moment –

As a bluebird swoops low and flashes his vibrant color

and the winter sun reaches its fingertips through the fog, reminding me

the diffused light of winter is light all the same