September morning—
 
I linger over coffee
 
till the fog burns off.

 
 

Early morning fog
 
settles on the trumpet vine—
 
autumn says hello.

 
 

The autumn mountains—
 
I see them for a moment,
 
then the fog rolls in.

 
 
 

Autumn morning fog—
 
I part the misty curtain
 
to see my next step.

 
 
 

September morning—
 
the city streets are quiet,
 
shrouded in thick fog.

 
 
 

Final days of spring—
 
morning by morning thick fog
 
enshrouds my plum tree.

 
 
 

My cherry tree groans,
 
weighted down by morning fog
 
pressing on each branch.

 
 
 

If only this fog
 
would slip across the footbridge
 
and into the pond!

 
 
 

January fog
 
muffles the voices of crows
 
on my neighbor’s fence.

 
 
 

Overcast morning—
 
a crow on the backyard fence
 
blends in with the fog.