The Tule fog has stayed too long.
It presses against the windows
like a thought that won't finish.
Days blur into the same gray breath.
Cold settles in my bones.
Even light feels tired,
arriving late, leaving early,
as if it too is discouraged.
I walk through hours half-seen,
wrapped in layers of waiting.
The world feels muted,
like sound swallowed by wool.
What am I to do
when the sky forgets
its own color,
when warmth is only a memory.
So I make small fires.
A cup held in both hands.
Music low enough to trust.
One honest breath at a time.
I remind myself:
fog is not the end of weather.
It only teaches patience,
how to stay until something lifts.
Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou
A personal blog sharing heartfelt poetry inspired by nature, beauty, and soulful reflection.
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Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou 
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