Listen to the quiet

Listen to the quiet
as it strokes the cat-like fog.
Gray shapes of dampness darting
with joyful, silent quietude,
like the ghost of a faithful dog.
A scent of pine pervades the breeze,
that drifts in from that sea,
to still the weary, restless mind
and set the spirit free.


The silence of the limbs

Boughs heavy with moisture
hang in weighty clumps of green.
On the slick flanks of coastal firs
flecks of wispy Spanish Moss quiver
as sheets of sea fog flit playfully,
capriciously undecided whether or not
to fulfill their endless, ancient pact
with the dense headland forests
as agents of life’s renewal.
Dancing tendrils of the moss
pause before accepting the
invisible invitation to pirouette
offered by leering, randy gusts
impatient on their way
to caress the hot soil
that passionately awaits
their coital anointment.