Foggy Turn of the Road

A sonnet

photo by William J Spirdione

It is time to slow down a little now.
Not sure who or what lies around the bend.
To move as fast as conditions allow.
Alert, aware, on all senses depend.

The fog it rolls off hills of melting snow.
Wet blackened trunks of trees create rhythm.
A gentle curve completes the peaceful flow.
No problems here, at least that’s our theorem.

If lulled to sleep, might wake to find trouble.
Someone or something was crossing the road.
A broken down truck, a tree, some rubble.
From the woods to the road a deer has strode.

The road was clear, no smashing of metal.
Safe passage now, a little unsettled.