I thought the fog was thinning
walking along a country lane.
I thought a figure, just like me,
walked ahead along the country lane.
I thought the figure seemed suspended
puppet-like, on a cord
feet just happening to brush the ground.
I can tell you now that later
I would practise the same technique
when I needed to raise my game.
Discerning no features to the figure
I provided my own, perhaps
a certain swagger, perhaps a cap.
And as the figure paused and stooped,
examined peculiar foliage,
breathed in the decay and the earth,
I found myself doing the same.
When the figure looked above
arrested by bursts of birdsong,
reaching for beauty, so did I.
I learnt to adjust my speed to this apparition.
I had my guide to scale and distance.
Now, my woodland is small, I tend to go round in circles
but here the path divides, two tracks terminate in mist.
Suddenly alarmed, I am unsure which way the figure went.
Running to the junction I see
to the left a figure is calling aloud
directing a voice either farther ahead or to the skies
I curve my hands around my mouth and do the same
"Hey!" 
Looking to the right a figure jogs along with increasing speed.
I follow suit, breathing hard, 
but succumb as the fog grows denser.
As I emerge from a pure white scene
I am still wondering
could this mysterious guide
have taken both paths at once?
There is the figure! 
Feeling I have good reason to pursue
I'll increase my pace once more.