Mist atop the mountain cools the skin,
But fills the lungs and never leaves
It is a thin, Mirage White
The vapor substance floats,
Clouding what I see of the distance,
The edges shine with a Touch of Gray
Beside my face, a clump of growth
Vibrant against the dark, blurry shapes
Broad, waxy leaves surround African Violets
Clinging to the hard grey stone,
The plant gazes at the whole world
Filling the thick air with Hazy Lilac scent