Marjorie A. Buettner...

Summer's End

The fog this morning has nothing to tell except, perhaps, of another season's end. It curls around my car like a homeless cat, brushing itself between the wheels of my car, sliding without a sound over the roof, pausing imperceptibly at the windows then gliding past leaving beads of moisture on the glass in the shape of paw prints. I am reminded that there are times in this early morning when nature is raw, wild, and unnameable; we are just visitors, here, for a time--tourist who are never at ease, never at home, who get lost in transcribing what is loved most--those things which cannot be kept.

summer's end driving in the dust of the road

WHCHaibun 2006-08-30