When fog hangs over us , as so often it does on the 300 ft contour , why are we always surprised to find a different day as we drop down into the valley?
Entrenched, enshrouded
In mist so thick
The sun,obscured devoid of light
Darkened boughs hang low
Under the rain -filled cloud
Lanes stain red
As mud leaches
And yet to know
The day is lightened
As the silvered light
Shines through in golden glow
That paints the wayside green
In the valley down below.
My Devon Life 