The scene


The mist over water chill.

Suspended in the air,

as the sun rises above

the landscape and adds

its lively yellow hues to the

shadows at the scene.


And I walk cold watching all

of this as a painting

without a painter.


I stop. A moment. 

A camera.


How I shall paint it

with words that hang

in my memory

and linger in this pen

that now evokes

the scene anew:

this precious image,

that will never come,

never come,

quite like this again?