Mist

hides
the
beauty
of the hills.
It drapes the silence
in its chill, keeps secrets from folk
who wake just before the lean of light when all is still.
Those fast asleep won't miss a thing.
Time to push away
the last of
magic's
dream
and
rise
like haze
on rolling
layers of wet land
that fade to cover what's been seen
by folk who watch the wakening of horizon's line
as daylight shakes her pretty skirt
and dances, slowly
steps into
this side
of
dawn.