Trees upon the Mountain

Trees upon a mountain shrouded in mist,
I travel alone, my self a shadow
The mist is my blindness
For are not all trees grounded in the same earth?

A Heavy Fog

A heavy fog masks my landscape,
Turning delicate peaks into hidden daggers.
Vast wastelands are all that remains of my spacious fields
And every pit now seems a trap hidden from sight.
Each step taking me.
I am lost on a familiar landscape:
My heart is swollen with grief and my mind falters
under its fearful burden.
What is of value in a colorless home?
Where do you ground yourself in the mist?