Whiteness swallows,
Vines, wires, distant hills
Within that stillness.
That sheep regarded me
Composed with shadows
Shuffle through the aisles.
Morning leaves its breath
On the tip of the autumn leaves
Before the brightness became apparent.
My face embraced by
The damp delight
In the break of a May day.
They prune
While the sheep in fog
Brought me to this fairy land.
The Fleeting Moments 