DAWNING FOG PODS

FOGGY MORNING IN MAINE

Arising at four a.m.
I witness the flash of dawn,
a ritual these days.
Teacup warming my hand,
I raise the porcelain cup
from my grandmother’s tea set
treasured, passed on to me,
perfect for celebrating each new day
on Mother Earth’s green earth.

A hearty hooty-hoot-hoot
echoes through the tall trees
as the repetitious call
interrupts my focus on the
silver flash of dawn
and the sun breaking
over the treetops across the Kennebec.

Sliding glass doors
allow a vast view
of steaming fog-pods
rising from the forest floor
out of the lush garden;
a thick carpet filled with
varieties of green ferns.

Secrets and worries whispered
evaporate away,
silently upward
into the Universe
safe
forever
more.

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