It was foggy.
Like, it’s not safe to walk
into those woods kind of foggy.
But he walked into the woods anyway
and never came back.
It would be easy to think the worst,
that he fell down a hole
or got stolen by men bigger than him
or mauled to death by a wolf.
It would be far easier to think the worst
rather than get used to the fact
an unknown haze
was more attractive than a routine
he could see through like glass.

© Carl Burkitt 2023