Shenandoah

In the shadow
Of the mountain,
More shadows glide
As hawks and crows,
Crowd against a sun
That's pale and sullen
In a dreary sea
Of mist and sky.

Far in the valley,
Tiny and serene
Lay rolling farms
Like a small train table
In dappled light and
Looking reserved
Like a perfect
Photograph, fixed
And frozen in an
Infinite depth of field.

Then came the rain
And the fog
And a chill that seeped
Through the cabin's walls
And every tree glistened
In the dimming light
Like gossamer wings
Taking flight.