A fish tang invades the air

A whiff of rotting wood and moist sand

Chilly in the calm mornings,

dew was hanging, dripping,

the lake, motionless and silent,

Active and rippling during

the day, is slumbering now.

The trees, tall and gnarly,

Reach their limbs towards each other,

And their roots over their feet,

Under the cabin, and winding through 

the paths. All is still, all is

shifting at Greylock camp.

Ears perceive no sound,
but the noise of the silent air.
Chirpings of the night crickets,
have died away.
Wind whispers.
Faint awakenings murmur.
Wood brushes upon leaf.

The opaque sky, obscured by

Clouds, neither allows the

Sun to wink an eye,

Forbidding any warmth

That day, lending the reins 

to the rain, who soon

Descends and graces

The Earth with its power

Blesses it with refreshed life,

And wet matted hair and muddy shoes.