Heavy is the air
and the dew upon the mountain mint
and spider silk.
No breath of wind to
keep the fog at bay.
Quiet is the birdsong
and the thrumming insect chorus
and the green frogs.
Only the rooster
boldly greets the day.
Welcome are the bees
and their feeding on the fennel
and the phlox. Yet
their numbers dwindle
and slowly slip away.
Enshrouded is the path
and the road that runs before us.
Wearily we walk
searching for the way.
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