Cat Valente complains of poetry like this, but it didn't feel right without the line breaks.

The earth never fails to tell it like it is.
This morning dawned dovesoft and dim,
Wrapped in fog like the blanket around my son,
Face covered but for a tiny pocket of air,
Voice stating plainly that he was tired and did not want to get up.
I could see my hand in front of my face, and the promise of a sidewalk,
But the van was a dream, a thing to take on faith.
And thank the gods for headlights.

So I brought my camera.
Because it makes perfect sense to record the nothing on film.
"This photo is of the mountain behind my house.
Yes, I know it looks like an airport smokers' lounge,
But trust me."
After all, I do the same thing in the journal almost every day.
"I can not see the path beyond these steps,
But I can see these steps."
So.

So I went for a walk on a trail I'd never seen before.
Grace avert the eyes of the dangerous from me;
Gentle their intentions and make warm what is cold inside us all.
And I looked.
Ghosts around me, limbs reaching up
Water murmuring around unnatural stones
Humanity's "improvement" doing nothing more for nature than giving her a place to play
So as to keep her off our damn yards.
When the difference in heat between earth and sky is right,
She wraps around our yards anyway and covers our eyes,
Seeps into our lungs and bones
And we can hear her sighing.

I know not whether you can see the sigh on film.
I haven't film, anyway, only light sensors, zeroes and ones.
Can you catch the Otherworld these days,
Now that silver is gone from the process?

I was caught.
Mud beneath my soles and breath on my glasses.
Squirrels warned one another of my passage
And a pair of cardinals examined me when I paused beneath them.

Slowly, the way showed itself to me.

The sun was burning through as I drove home.
I pulled a fast right into a church's parking lot
To see whether I could catch the mist in flight.
A stranger running across the lawn to turn and look
At the resident flowing up toward the trees,
Light pouring between branches like grace,
Limning all things in grey and gold.
Gods know what we all looked like.
But if there are gods, they do know.
They wait and they watch and when we go still, we may feel them

I have felt this way for days:
Shrouded, each step an act of will.
Just now, I stood on my patio and felt the cold, humid light on my face
And realised
This is what is.
The sun burns in void and darkness.
The world spins.
The ground breathes.
The rain falls.
All the elements conspire to produce the perfect shade of blue,
Whether I can see it or not.
This is what it is
And I am of it.

Grace and gratitude.

( Pics below the cut so's not to bork your feed... )