A little imagination can turn the morning commute into an adventure.

The world’s mysterious in the fog,
When all is hushed, and no bird sings.

I travel in a magic sphere,
A bubble blown of frosted glass.
The mists recede as I approach,
And close behind me as I pass:
Unreachable, untouchable,
Though everywhere the moisture clings.

Familiar objects, indistinct,
Shape-shift between the cones of light
That mark my path. One half-believes
In trolls and elves just out of sight.
Perhaps a fairy castle stands
Upon that hill so dimly seen -
And if you listen hard enough,
You’ll hear the beat of dragon wings.

Janice Lewis Clark