Dawn rises early in Vermont.
The sun is in retreat.
It’s damp from last night’s showers.
Air, cool, pristine.
Mist, white, heavy, sits atop the mountain,
a crown of sorts.
Clouds billow quilt like,
dark on white, patches of light blue.
Down below, the forest, matte.
Shades of green, brown, dotted with
wildflowers, yellow, lavender, white.
An occasional newt, chipmunk scurries by.
Birds chit chatting, woo hooing, pecking.
Joyful choruses.
Bullfrogs hopping, skipping from edges of every pond.
Streams, brooks rush past waterfalls unfolding off rocks.
The smell, pure, piney.
Nothing you could capture in a bottle.
My camera, too small to record this majesty.
My memory, too faulty.
Words will have to do.
Lynn Benjamin
July 1, 2021