Winter Fog

The reassuring lights of the tube station recede
and I am alone, unable to see what lurks
in the darkness,
what lies in wait, unseen.
But then I reason, if I can’t see It,
It can’t see me.

I choose to see only the beauty
of familiar streets transformed
by rain clouds that hang so low they
almost touch the ground,
caressing with delicate fingers,
gently holding the world like a wounded bird.
An ethereal fairytale world where
diamond droplets drip from bejewelled branches
like the slow melting of a sculpture carved in ice;
where all is strangely different,
the known somehow altered;
where the commonplace becomes magical
and time is suspended.