It's Still Life

I’m unable to sleep. Again. Winter makes me a bit flighty. Makes me fidgety as shivers. But when the sun does appear, it’s all the more welcome. This morning I watched the sun rise and focus and burn away fog so thick that the end of the street had disappeared into its own depth, and those doves on my neighbour’s roof were a ghostly contour as they moved along the ridge tiles. It’s November. Cold. Wet. The air is slow and thawing, and I admire those wandering birds that come and go. They’re like a flock of white sheep. Lost in themselves. Lost in the fog on the ridge of a hill. Do they even know they are lost?

 
Fog smothered the air
and leaves still falling falling
wings are silver sails

for dVerse Haibun Monday #26