Fog

The fog comes on little cat feet. ~ Carl Sandburg

Earth and sky meld as fog swallows
the mountain. Evening-slanted light
turns roads to haunted forest paths,
draping the next curve, the markings,
in chiffon. Cars creep through patches
like meringue as drivers scan for wildlife.
Fear cannot quail trust the road continues,
faith in pavement extending past sight.
To fail to advance means danger,
more than creeping on, for others forge ahead,
following, straining to see, discerning the course.
Life's fogs call for caution, care in choosing,
need to question where the path lies —
but faith in guidance, in Power,
means moving through, inching on,
the next right move, the next right step,
sight unseen, in trust.