finally the mist settled
downwards towards ground
rippling like a dropped veil
from where all morning
it had been gently tracing
the trunk and arms of the tree

the branches appeared to breathe
uncovering their essence
statureque and honest
free of adornment
silvery skin tarnished
dusted green with lichen

I Am French Oak It Spoke

all watched with deep attention
by the dark strutted wood
that framed this emerging spectacle
the way a clapping crowd
suddenly becomes silent
before a seasoned queen