Trillions of stars glimmer across

the vast onyx sky

anticipating the flash of dawn.

Silvery fog begins to ooze along the river

initially laying low, advancing up

through the forest near sturdy roots

of stately ancient oaks.

Wild forest blossoms lift tiny

delicate faces upward

freshening in the morning dew.

Rising higher still, brushy brittle branches

extend, inviting the fogs ever-encroaching

silky scarf, thickening with dew,

creeping higher still, approaching the house.

The sun at last emerges,

barely above the glassine surface

of the Kennebec River,

projecting a silver-grey neon glow

illuminating my bedroom with warmth.

Briefly smothering the forest,

dissipating fog recedes,

quickly swallowed up

by the plump, brilliant face of Old Sol.

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