The forest is quiet.

Even the trees are still,

Expectant for the first

Glimpse of sunrise.

Even the lake, which

Was covered in whitecaps

All day, is perfectly still.

If it were colder, I’d think

The lake was frozen

From an early bout of

Winter, too early

For the snow.

There. A song

Pierces the air,

Splitting over the water.

A pinecone falls from

A tree, thudding against

The ground before

Rolling through the grass

And into the lake.

The forest was waking.