It is hard to believe in the midst of it,
that the mist is a veil.
Or in the dark,
that the dark is a blanket.
Whenever we cannot see our way,
it is hard to imagine beauty exists
not far from us.
Even when tracing back,
seeing our path cross hills and vales,
a dip in the topography
can seem a descent to darkness.
Although up above
all might be light.
Exquisite even, for the mist, the sun,
in her arriving and departing, her continuing.
Sometimes the sun will come find us,
scattering the mist to fragments,
Other times she will gently lift the blanket,
waking us into hopefulness.
Whether we reach her by foot,
or she arrives dazzling or tentative,
we realise the dark is just a covering,
the mist a harbinger of morning.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry