Nighttime.

Misty fog encompasses all.
Visibility is at an all time low.
All is calm.

Not a cricket chirps-
nor hoots an owl.

I sit upon- the base of a large sycamore.

The only illumination-
cast by the draws of my pipe.
I breathe in deep.

The light catches my face.

A thick plume exhaled.

As it disperses into the air-
I can see a faint glow,
off in the distance.

The illumination grows brighter.

It is coming near.

My resting place is just off of the trodden path.

The light breaks through the fog now.
It is clear.
It’s him.

He hasn’t graced these lands for a thousand years.

Pale and eery glow.
His eyes are not open.
He wears a frown.

I then notice he is not walking but gliding gracefully upon the ground.

A cloud of fog-
about his feet.

He wears a long flowing gown of light material.

He waves in the breeze-
transparent.

As he moves along the path;
and passed in front of me,
the world out of focus

A tingle in my spine-
and darkness.

I awaken-
a ray of light pierces the canopy, to warm my face. 

I sit up and look about.

Nothing.

Was it a dream?