Fog

This mist, this fog. It was more than either word could convey. It flowed as if pulled by gravity. It was nearly as dense as solid matter. This mist, as we shall call it for lack of a more truly descriptive word, would obscure. It caused man to lose his way. It caused elf to be unable to track his prey. It smelled of earth and something else. Something not necessarily good, not necessarily evil. Something that made the hairs on the back of your neck tingle and stand erect. Something that ran an electric shiver up your spine. It appeared out of thin air, seemingly, but you never saw from which direction it came. It was suddenly there. The mist caused your hair to hang in dripping ringlets. It caused your clothing to hang heavy, slick and saturated with murk. It created a blanket of gloom close around your being, as if you were suddenly not alone. You felt it breathing around you. It caused you to lose your balance. Your footsteps became as unsure as a baby's just learning to walk.

Quiet

O, the quiet
the far too quiet

A pinprick of ink
falls in slow motion
as if fighting gravity
into a warm tub of milk

The instant it hits surface
all is chaos
but it is all still just liquid

I would expect a rumble
from underfoot
but there remains nothing

No ripples radiating
And the black of the ink
has been swallowed up
or fractured into infinite bits

I know it was there
I saw it, I felt it
but then it was gone
and it feels like it was
never there at all