Mist, white as patiencedevours the mountains slowlyProud cedars, resigned to their fateaccept what they have comingEven as their comrades disappearEven as they swim,up to their necks,in the pale unknowingEquanimity, they breathe, into the silent surroundingMy body is glued into this momentif I peel away now I will forever be less like a sticker worn down …
Mind Over Writer 