Mists

The fog that comes with Autumn is the gentlest weather we get. It is not the harsh storms of winter that are battering and beautiful. That roar and rage as if to remind us that we are porcelain people . The mists of autumn wrap about us , a granny's shawl round the shoulders of a scared and cold child. We are still cold but the unearthly terror does not snap at our heels. They are not the golden thieving rays of the sun, snatching water from the trees and our plants . When it can no longer snatch water , it throws sparks down in fits of red rage. Choking the sky with an ashen mantle. The mists of autumn do not give much but they take nothing. Like the dream guarding spider in the laundry room , it does not give much but protection from nightmares and pests but only take a tiny morsel of space.