The fog barely parts at morning,
just enough to suggest
what lies beyond.
A hint of bamboo appears—
slender shadows,
green breath rising,
then fading again into white.
Nothing is revealed all at once.
Nothing is hidden forever.
The forest waits,
content to be half-known,
half-imagined.
The fog lingers,
the path remains quiet,
and discovery arrives slowly—
not by searching,
but by allowing the day
to open at its own pace.
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