Autumn Sunrise

I can hear the leaves chattering
of their ancestors whispering
beneath the pasture;
A stag meandering in the midst, his silence
echoed in the holes of the trees.

The rustle of dew drops among the spider
webs, dozed atop the ferns;
Hazed morning smelling
firewood chimneys, carrying me in its condensation
from this foreign wood
to the comfort of Christmas, in my grandparents living room.

Fog settling in
between my breath and a doe's alert ears, step by step
foraging between the warm colors of
gathered leaves.