It is early in the morning.
The sun has just begun to rise.
I hear birds chirping, more awake than I.
I look out over a grand, placid river,
The water rushing by me almost silent.
Silent.
And yet loud.
It is cold down here, early this morning.
And still sweat sticks to the back of my neck.
Humid.
It is hard too see, but it isn't my fault.
A dense fog, an ominous mist
Beckons forth travelers like a siren's song.
Beautiful and alluring.
Yet dark and dangerous.
Fog over river.
Water over water.
Juxtaposition.
Above the mist there is chatter and buzzing
Among the life
Buzzing
Chirping.
But under the fog there is silence.
The scenery itself has it's colors muted
As the water on water takes it revenge on those around it
Stealing their vibrancy in an attempt to find the energy it needs to float upwards and
Become a cloud.
You can feel it's malevolence.
It's desire.
It's cold body gliding across, just out of reach of you
But preventing you from seeing the future.
Don't get to close.
Don't get to comfortable.
Don't sidle up to this
Juxtaposition.
Color thief.
Bringing of cold and sweat on a summer morning.
Don't listen to this thing,
This fog
This mist
This water on water.
For it might just swallow you whole.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All resemblance to actual people, places, incidents, or things is completely coincidental.
