Morning Fog

Morning fog,

veiled over the trees of the forest,

like a sheer silky sheet.


vaguely opaque,

the sun glares through your weave.

The insistent caw of the crow,

alongside the ticking clock,


Expression was made.

Need fulfilled.


Morning breaking,

People waking,

Crows cawing,

Clock ticking.


Dog barking,

Whistle blowing,

Water dripping.


Coffee brewing,

Truck stopping,

Brakes squeaking,

Stopping at nothing.



GRB TiffanyCreek

March is Still

In the forest, wooden trunks, and structures

stark in sunlight, stand tall in their multitude.

Sentinels ready to file into Spring,

without snow.

Inside, the cawing of crows, outside.

The ticking of the clock, on the mantel.

Shapes of sound, poured into silence

of time and space.

Lush earthy aroma of cinders in the chimney

permeate the air.

February, gone away,

March is still.

GRB ~ TiffanyCreek