Thin fog drapes itself along the treeline while
crickets sing melodies that
thicken with the dewdrops gathering on fresh cut grass to listen.

The sun sleeps in–
tucking itself beneath a blanket of soft, grey clouds
People board airplanes that pierce the sky
interrupting this quiet scene
The engines hum and echo across the mountainside

The world is waking and I’m not ready to wish it good morning.