The mountains are ghosts
Distant in the rain
The trees, like bones
Rattle in their pain
The morning is grey
The sky is flat and plain
The raindrops fall
A monotonous refrain.
Forlorn and downcast
The day comes around
The falling of raindrops
And wind, are the sounds
That drift about softly
With the mist across the ground
Which hides it all thinly
A wafting translucent gown.
Clouds overhead
Are featureless and flat
Unbroken, a blanket
An endless grey matte
Pouring forth rain
A million dripping splats
Washing over the land
And dripping off my hat
I take the morning in
I soak in the lonely flavor
The solitude is delicious
These moments that I savor
These mornings in the wild
I count a special favor
I wander off into the mist
No thought to turn or waver.
© James L Frady November 12, 2020
