The Silence Of The Fog

A quiet has descended on the forest.
The trees have gone silent.
Blinded by a slow shroud of mist
They can't see to speak.














In a dying Hemlock forest
Not even the groans of decaying limbs are heard.
The winged denizens
Speak for the forest now.
In a multitude of voices.














Always silent lichens
Drink up this thick shroud.














The world turns into blurred lines
In the silence.














The silence of the fog.