The fog was drifting up my alley.

Just ahead of mornings, sun.

The weekend is in full swing.

And the night is on the run.

All is quiet, parties over.

We stay in. We order food.

There’s no need for explanation.

Over talking would be rude.

The world has changed in ways of plenty.

We hear it grinding on its gear.

There’s a shifting in the fog now.

There is hope for crystal clear.