august fog abound

drifting out of time and space

intoxicated

where the branch broke off

the pine bleeds healing tears of

golden forest sun

her long hair hangs down

from her shoulders as I wait

the ground starts to freeze

I know that fireworks

spring in all directions - but

they seem just for me

even the rocks that

make up the mountain, one day

fall down the mountain

dirt- blue shards of ice

puncture the sky, and unseen

creep down the mountain

the wild strawberry,

its perfume trapped as the snows

reach down the mountain

cloud prints, stretched and squeezed,

like in a hall of mirrors,

glide down the mountain

morning walk through the

campsite - spying on foreign

breakfast traditions

down the mountain path

my mum and daughters skipping

their small hands in hers