Shroud

Enveloped in heavy mists 
Lightly moisture falls from
Every leaf and tree resounding
Wrapped in a world of mystery
Wrapped in the break of day
Cool and refreshed from troubled
Dreams awakened by the call
Bluejay makes round the lake
Crying out it saucy song "Here, here
It's me" blending in the subtler notes 
Of songbirds all wrapped up in the 
Foggy beginnings of morning
Hidden by the grey it is not a 
Bright, open start but a muted world
Dulled of color and sound a cooling off
The heat and shrill of the weekend
It rises like a prayer to the new
Calmly coming in muted tones of
Silence deep stirring the awakening
Memories come to the edge unfocused
Released in the grey shroud and covered
What has been is gone, what will be is 
Unfolding, what is now is the prayer of
Morning, breaking in slow, dull grace
That which is needed at the edge