First morning of the holiday
In that morning’s air, the notion of a mist suspended,
so slight my eyes debated its presence, leached vapour
to appear as dew on the grass below…..
And my footfall was bold disturbing the chill beads,
which washed my skin, pressed between sole and lawn,
the touch as if some circuit was being made with all
that was around me.
I knew something but not what, until
the first of the sun’s rays skimmed the band of mist,
its attitude stealing violet and blue under the cover
of breakfast aromas and coffee enquiries.