Mist over the water meadows

Every so often, I wake up to find a mist shrouding our valley - the ordinary landmarks, so familiar to me, are lost in a luminous vagueness -

When I had to drive to my school, I would glance out of the car at this new vaporous world - I could not stop - I had meetings to attend, counting cleverness to oversee -

I would listen to ministers justifying the privileges of the wealthy on the Today programme - I would long to stop the car, to throw away my lap top -

Now I am retired - I can wander in any mist that takes my fancy -

Early one icy morning, this February, I looked out of the widow, to see mist, lapping round our house - I knew what I had to do - I went outside - I walked across the level crossing - the rails glistened with moisture - my vision was circumscribed by the mist - the rails soon vanished from my sight -

The water meadows were a silvery green, stiff with frost - trees were dark weird shapes - all was still and strange - I thought - if I walk into this mist, then I too will vanish -

But the moment passed -  the sun was just starting to burn away the mist - if I looked up, I could see the sun, a ball of serene white fire - it was above the river, marking the water with lines of light -

I returned, to look at the gravestones in the churchyard - they were lichened, their lettering worn away - beyond the tall firs, I could see a perfect blue sky -