Wafting across the valley,
patches of earth’s skin escaping through.
The fog choosing what is seen,
what is hidden.
Forever changing it’s mind,
showing something new, hiding something old.

The master stroking his brush across the skin,
Painting a picture for this moment,
painting a new one for the next.

Beauty effused by a veil worn loosely,
flowing with the breath of dawn,
a scene never to be painted again.

Unlike the next.
Never seen before.
This moment.