A Riddle, an Enigma

Old English riddle

Anonymous

My dress is silent when I tread the ground
Or stay at home or stir upon the waters.
Sometimes my trappings and the lofty air
Raise me above the dwelling-place of men,
And then the power of clouds carries me far
Above the people; and my ornaments
Loudly resound, send forth a melody
And clearly sing, when I am not in touch
With earth or water, but a flying spirit.

Backcountry Mists.
Henry Coe State Park,
California

Photograph (c) 2010 R. Harrison

Author: rharrisonauthor

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