The world is full of fogthat people put outto hide the wrongs that they have done(or are about to do)

The world is full of deceitfulness and liesthat is the fog of the world

But there is another kindand that is of the countryside of my homewhere fog is realand driftsdrowsily aroundold Douglas firsand house windows

Through that slow sleepy fogI read in newspapersand hear on the radioabout the war in this and thatfar-off country

Though here at home I am safe and warmthere is no war hereexcept the occasional warbetween that stray cat and my dogaside from thatthere is only peace

Later when the sun breaks throughlighting tree tips and making colors bright and flowing downI run along the warming groundwith my large black dogfor both of us are youths and like to runhe with ears flopping and tail bouncingand I with my hair bent by the wind

Then I sit on a hill and watchthe ducks swimming in the lakethe herons fishing for newtsand the hawks hunting for mice

I can see a deer with her fawnsthe robins in their nestthe bees going to work at the flowers

I am glad that they are all still here.

I think to myselfthis is Paradise.