Do you feel the cold at this time of year?
Threadbare mists advance
Infiltrating the treeline
Creating a landscape of wraiths,
Spectres, tree-skeletons.
A muslin veil over
A half-world of
Soft shadows and
Sensed shapes,
Frost-rimed ephemera..
Fog flows up the valley
On ponderous lion's paws
A visual avalanche
Of silent white
Pillowed on the land
Sound and vibrancy
Choked off, stymied,
Hidden from view
In a sepulchre of
Swirling purest samite.
Timeless limbo
Holding off the sun
Until the light fades
And ice forms.
Winter reigns.
Tony, I always associate samite with the beautiful, almost glowing white altar cloth that was used for High Mass and Benediction at my school Church during the sixties. It was, I believe, actually a true samite cloth with flecks of gold along the edge. This was the image I was thinking of when I looked down from the building site where I work as the valley below was silently flooded by mist and fog. I appreciate the comments, thank you. The comparison with Tennyson is somewhat giddying!! Lol!