at my feet,
prisms of dew splash the ground cover before me...
potential composite rainbows of light within each drop... a majestic microcosm of
their sky-clad kin.

...the drops of pure moisture are as sweet nectar to the marsh rabbits and fairies that inhabit these woods...
cold dampness permeates my clothing, but it will disipate soon with the coming of
the morning sun.

...the clang of pots and pans behind me, a reminder of the breakfast that must soon come.

...inhaling deeply the moist air about me, I break the new silence with a heavy exhalation...
stirring some grouse nearby.

a newness seems to frame the morning air... interlaced with the bitter-sweet smell of campfire coffee...a still moment precedes another still moment...

i ask myself, "do you think this can be real"?

I taste the fresh brewed coffee....and conclude that this must be real, as I am certain a phantasm
would surely taste better than this!

Gregory S.