An old abandoned house sat surrounded by a dense foggy mist. It made them wonder what secrets the old house held. "If only it could talk." She said to him quietly." "Did you hear that?" He asked her, hoping it was just his imagination.
A glance over the shoulder a whisper in the mist, an echo through the trees. Spirit travelers, shamans and tricksters. As surely as his paddle slices the surface, he knows he is not alone. Poem by Wintercove Paddler in the early morning mist.