A semi jakes before jamming the curve
too fast on a foggy morn. As usual
the trains climb down from the north
with their loads urgent as nightfall
yowling as they go. The heats tick on
and off and chimneys puff white
their basement burns. There is no breeze
and the smoke rises stiff and Grecian.
Here and there and there and then
some windchimes gossip as they may.
I am wary. So too the dog, low and long,
one forepaw lifted from the snow,
charged in the settling mist, nosed.
We ask then, what bodes a morning,
mechanic such as this, metallic and serene,
that neither owls nor coyotes deign to sing
and no rabbits break from the bush in panic.
Image: Shapelined on Unsplash
The quiet, cool yeah.