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Above a Sea of Fog

Caspar David Friedrich, 'Wanderer above a Sea of Fog' (c.1818)

She once said I looked like a graceful swan
drifting serene across the surface of the water,
giving no clue to the feet paddling so furiously
beneath me. It was a cliché, small comfort
unless you are obsessed with appearances.

His wandering, like mine, is threatened
by the drifting mist that twists and turns,
obscuring paths that lie ahead, decisions
that weigh so heavily on lesser minds,
not lightly made. Masterful

he looks, above this boiling sea,
so nicely turned out, so dapper
in his neatly tailored coat, perched
high above the reach of such disorder,
never likely to muddy his resolve.

Webbed feet paddle beneath me
so constantly I am not always aware.
I dress well, tie back my unruly hair
leaving a wisp or two free to roam.
I do not want to look severe.

But the fog creeps.

Julia

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