The world is full of fog
that people put out
to hide the wrongs that they have done
(or are about to do)
The world is full of deceitfulness and lies
that is the fog of the world
But there is another kind
and that is of the countryside of my home
where fog is real
and drifts
drowsily around
old Douglas firs
and house windows
Through that slow sleepy fog
I read in newspapers
and hear on the radio
about the war in this and that
far-off country
Though here at home I am safe and warm
there is no war here
except the occasional war
between that stray cat and my dog
aside from that
there is only peace
Later when the sun breaks through
lighting tree tips and making colors bright and flowing down
I run along the warming ground
with my large black dog
for both of us are youths and like to run
he with ears flopping and tail bouncing
and I with my hair bent by the wind
Then I sit on a hill and watch
the ducks swimming in the lake
the herons fishing for newts
and the hawks hunting for mice
I can see a deer with her fawns
the robins in their nest
the bees going to work at the flowers
I am glad that they are all still here.
I think to myself
this is Paradise.
Eugene, Oregon
