Mist moisturizing the green
while dew drops of freshness
settle on my being.
A squirrel, saying grace
over his food,
doesn't mind the almost rain.
The group I was to join
stayed back due to gray.
I'm here alone -
remembering Wordsworth's solitary walks in the Lake Country's heavy dew.
A white swan even whiter.
All the grass
a green tonic for me.
Thoughts of you
fit in so beautifully here
permeating my mind
as the mist does the green.