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.