The spirit in the mist,
hovers by in a drift.
from a realm where vapor is the norm.
High overhead in its usual homestead, is the formation of a coming storm.
The clouds swallow the mountain
and then spits it back out….
Will it go from wince it came or
will it travel another route?
Reigning from above like an argent spectral king.
Casting torrents of rain on every living thing.
Eventually the sun will chase the wayward spirit away.
but it shall return again to haunt the mountain someday….