Cynthia Moon Goddess

for our Monterey Cypress

The morning fog surrounds our tree,
Collecting and condensing so
Efficiently, it rains below.

Look closely at the ground, you'll see
The spider with her white egg case,
The beetle running his swift race.

Each morning we retrieve our bowls
Left out the night before to feed
Whoever comes to us in need.

This time is free of plans and goals,
Imbued with silence broken by
The mourning dove, the raven's cry.

The mint plants that have taken hold
Release a scent intense and bold.
The day begins auspiciously,
Embraced by fog beneath our tree.


©2017 Michael Fraley




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