Maiden of the Mist

Thick fog shrouded the Blue Ridge Parkway
Straining our eyes, barely able to see
The last two winding miles we traveled
Were rather frightening to some degree

Lucky enough not to have run off the road
Southward on our way to Otter Creek
The next exit we took, carefully descending
A natural setback in plans this vacation week

Down from those foggy mountains we came
The best of these conditions we would make
Driving down into a familiar misty vale
Tonight we would camp at Sherando Lake

Tents pitched, settled in, we made our fire
The surrounding ridges, obscured in fog
All the while our party was entertained
By the loud trilling of a gray treefrog

The shrill passion of his evening song
Lovesick, not giving his voice a rest
At such no one could possibly complain
As here we were only his humble guests

Over Sherando Lake and up into the boughs
Ghostly swirling tendrils of mountain mist
Rather eerie, but mysteriously beautiful
A view our smoke filled eyes could not resist

The treefrog continued his trilling song
Drifting fog seemingly blotting out the dark
Illuminated by the fire, a weird golden glow
Some miles north of our intended mark

Deep in our cups, a calming sense of ease
Quite sublime at camp in these wooded hills
Raising many a cheer to this foggy night
And the treefrog’s loud lovesick trills

Rather suddenly his trilling song ceased
We bade him goodnight and a fond farewell
And continued with our heathenish revelry
Happily camped for tonight in this misty vale

The fog thinned into raggedy swirling shreds
Allowing us to gaze at the silvery full moonrise
No one seeing her silently drift into our camp
Somewhat sodden, she caught us by surprise

Her strange eyes were like blue sapphires
Her long thick hair was as pale as the fog
A slight grin played on her pearly white lips
On her bare bosom sat the little treefrog

Never did those pearly white lips open
Yet we all could hear her musical talk
Advancing in slowly like drifting mist
We were amazed, as she did not walk

Although her words were quite unfamiliar
Their meaning was somewhat clear
I knew full well we were in no harm
As her strange demeanor bespoke not of fear

Amazed, but unafraid, we returned polite response
But she only laughed, then drifted back into the fog
Somewhat shaken, we all took a long deep quaff
Again entertained by her trilling gray treefrog

A quite epic poem Wisa'ka!! Can I ask....is this based on actual events? Wonderful....

Greetings hawkmoth65 and thanks for your kind word.

Actual events ?

Ahhh, good friends surrounded by wild nature, plenty of good cheer, fine home distilled spirits, smoking like Scythian chieftains, I suppose when one person catches sight of something that strange it could be called a pink elephant, but when it is seen by all present, it’s like a mastodon come lumbering into camp.

They are among the world's most ancient mountains where old spirits abound.

I can see we have many things in common! I always called those beings wraiths. Ever go down a mountain in the mornng and see them flying up from the valley below? I have seen perfectly formed (human looking) mist folk dance on the top of a small pond before. Excellent poem!!

Same here, over cascading streams or sometimes over low swampy areas. It is my belief they clad themselves in mist.