Woods At Dawn

A shroud of mist
hangs tightly to the valley below
as the tops of firs
spire through,
creating a mosaic
seen from the hillside above.
The heaven
with its crown of stars,
still wrapped
in that gray color
somewhere between dawn and night.
In the distance,
a lark calls to the wind.
Nearby,
his mate answers.
The dying embers of the campfire
glow orange
that announce its slow death
from the blaze it knew
only hours before.
The earthy smell of dampness
fills the senses
as the eyes of nature
peer out from tree stumps and thickets.
Across the lake,
which lays as a blue silk upon the land,
a loon’s cry echoes
then falls to silence.
I sit upon a log, quiet,
for God walks in the woods,
and I will not disturb.