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Oct 6, 2016 | Guest Post

A photo by Carmine De Fazio.

The grey morning light breaks the mold,

that a darkened night tends to hold,

A cool mist lays upon the hearth,

spreading a blanket sheen in the sun’s berth.

Under a bed of fallen needle and leaf,

sleeps a spent and drowsy coon thief.

Worn and sullen from a night’s hunt,

through thickets, haze and cold front.

All is still except for the scurried mice,

fleeing from the shadowed owl’s clawed vise.

A young fawn trips out into the bleak light,

seeking the dawn and testing its might.

The silent doe stares into the unknown hollow,

hearing distant voices but reluctant to follow.

It is the creaking sounds of old cottonwood,

whispering in the wind where the ancients stood.

Time in here stands seemingly still,

in the waking forest of tree and hill.

Whose canopy stirs in cue and song,

serenading all to whom the forest belong.

David Moum is a writer, photographer, and wild wanderer. Swedish by birth, growing up between his homeland and the USA. Now residing in the mountains of Colorado he splits his time between hiking, backpacking, and dreaming.

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