There is Still Much Green

Thanksgiving morning;
Drops hang from the pine needles;
Dog barks through the mist.










Barn is a phantom;
Chimney smoke mixes with fog;
Goats stand like statues.













Arched over the road
Trees grasp at the empty fog;
Lone car disappears.









Small community
Grows fuzzily on tree stump.
Hollow shot from woods.




There is still much green:
Ferns, ivy, moss, fir and pine;
Even some clover.













Breaking through the mist
Sun makes silhouettes of trees--
Blinding gray brightness.






Drops on the branches
Hanging down and transparent.
Secure in stillness.











The sun takes over
Lighting patches in the woods.
Where has the mist gone?