Monday, March 26, 2012

Lenten Sonnet #34


Camp Morning



All night long the soft rain fell on the tent roof,
Moisture gathering under the fly until
The whole inside sweated. We woke to a chill
Dawn, damp and aloof

In its stillness and cobwebs. Too wet to lie
Abed;  too cold to want to crawl out into
The un-bird-torn silence and the silver dew,
All the world early

Yet in its repetitive history, each
Day a reliving and a newness of tree,
Leafmould, fiddleback, moss, creek, stone. Only we,
Who could feel time reach

Past us into things we knew we couldn’t know,
Lay awake in that still, gray now, long ago.

2 comments:

Margaret said...

I like this! Thank you!

Sally Thomas said...

Thanks! I'm really in the mood for camping right now . . . though maybe not in the rain. I'm in the mood for camping in the southern Utah desert, which is quite another thing. Still, even in the rain, I love these creeky, mossy, stony, ferny mountains.