The winter mist is rolling in 
Tracing umbras and penumbras 
On liquid walls conjuring 
Illusions of nostalgic things 
Like tapestries of sunny hills 
And shadowlands where 
valleys stretch 
Into soft concaves 
Of velvety days shimmering
At their edges, glimmering 
In the halos of lit up orbs
Glittering, pulsating
Watching and observing all 
Like eager sentries making sure 
The invading mist 
Covets no more 
Than the silver kiss 
That it bestows 
On each doorway 
As it tiptoes
In and then away 
Into the darkness further along 
All the while 
As it glides
Whispering its vapory song.