Branson Dawn

In hushed expectancy
steel gray heavens
hover heavy like a shroud
over blue ridge mountains,
a scalloped ruffle of blue green lace
in tiered layers of delicate overlays.

Mother Sky lets loose a torrent
while Father Earth seems greedy for it.
The mysterious fruits of this union,
phantom fingers, curl heavenward,
become a ghostly spirit dance,
a graceful ballet of ephemeral presences.

These fleeting children
command heaven's stage.
Misty wraiths, they hover,
caught for fragile moments,
flitting fairies, fleetingly
frolicking 'cross pearl gray skies.

In the aftermath of
her abundant passions
Mother Sky's excesses spent,
her spirit children float free to drift
ver marbled heavens,
joining a vast celestial dance.

Love, Jody