Falling Mists

 

Falling mists,
    the cold, damp splendor,
Wrapped in gray,
   the earth held tender.
Light subdued
    by clouds and fog;
Air now cleansed
    of summer's smog.

Summer's heat
   and dust surrendered:
Cooling rain
   with moistness rendered;
Stifling warmth
   replaced with coolness;
Choking dust,
   with growing newness.

Autumn's rains
   give way to muted;
Autumn's hues
   reconstituted.
Joy returns
   upon a drizzle;
Gone is now
   the summer's sizzle.

Turn and joy
   to walk midst clouds now;
Gently kissed
   though far from crowds' wow.
Turn aside
   from noise all jangled,
Find I here
   life disentangled!
  
- D. Benning

I Love the Smell in the Morning

I love the smell in the morning
        after a rain!
Cool, crisp air, sharp with pungency of wet leaves,
    aromatic as of close juniper.
Mists swirling low to the ground,
    hovering over the newly plowed fields,
    tending each clod with maternal care.

 I love the smell in the morning
         after a rain!
Sunlight dampened by season's first fog—
    delightful interplay of air, fire and water
                                 over earth.
Muted ball of fire, risen bright,
         now orange with stripes,
    struggling to exude its warming rays.

I love the smell in the morning
         after a rain!
Breath that lingers long and hangs just in front,
    twisting upward, sideways,
         then leaving not a trace.
Vague moistness under foot and remnant puddles,
    softening the former crunch of leaves into sounds of cats' footfalls.

I love the smell in the morning
         after a rain!
Tantalizing reminders of life, of hope, of more!
    Promises given of an abundant rain.
Send it now once again, O Lord,
    The early and latter rain,
        The Reign of your Spirit in us!

- D. Benning

The Fog

Rom 8:22 – We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.

Wispy, wavering, silvery light—
The fog stealthed in on feet of padded soft:
Laughing, crying, whisp’ring—at time scoffed—
Shrieking silence with her ghostly bright,
She draped the landscape with a deathly white;
And cast about in passion she would oft
Rain upon the earth a dew so’s not
To let it swell and whelm within her tight.

So tenderly the earth draws close the shades
That cover up the windows of her eyes;
And in the dazzling darkness she undresses,
Lays down, and with silent serenades,
She lulls herself to sleep with quiet cries—
There hides her shame and prays for perfectness.

The Fog at UC Davis