Wandering lost in the woods, now out of food.

The fog thicker than pea soup.

Can’t see my hands in front of me.

I trip over a log and hit my face on the cold, hard wet ground.

I fear I will be stuck in these woods forever.

I hear a noise and stand frozen in my invisible tracks.

Was that a howl I heard? I hope it wasn’t a wolf or a coyote.

I shiver. Not sure from fright or the bitter cold air.

I wish I had not eaten all my sandwich now.

The sound of the forest creatures now mixes with the growls of my empty stomach.

I sit down and whimper softly.

The now hard rain meshes with my flowing tears.

I hate the fog.