Cold and damp, we wake to add split oak
to coals banked in the woodstove
and wait for dawn’s dim light to see
how thick the fog that has consumed us
for weeks—and the cows and calves
we must gather before we brand,
before the rains leave dirt tracks
too slick to travel up the mountain—
bull calves to sell instead of steers for less.
An ocean of fog with islands of green,
a world below where commerce
and consumption carry-on conveniently,
where pundits and politicians spar
for the last word, and the weathermen
guess what Nature has left to teach us.
drycrikjournal 