Muir Woods

The death of my brother rests in that mist. I've brought it home with me here to the opposite coast, while my grief burns my soul, the mist is there to cool. At thirteen, he was middle aged at 26 he left. I am an only child now I am also an orphan. I have lost a child, there is not a label for it. I think it's too painful to name. The mist was not enough, it is gone now departed with those souls. I. Am. Here. Broken.