In the slight morning chill

In the slight morning chill the fog sits low upon the ground. The sounds of a new day begin to echo through the silent trees and announce the re-awakening of the world. The sky shifts from a deep navy to a greyish-blue as the rising sun remains masked by clouds. The chirping of early rising birds, amplified by the chilly dew, somehow seem exuberant in the prevailing sleepiness and betray the casual warble of their randomness. Finally the sun does break through and bright beams of yellow strike the gaps between houses, stores,

as the fog sits low upon the ground.

By Andrew Cohee