The sky brightens slowly, reluctant to let go of the dark clouds that blew rain all night from west to east. Nearly white with subtle shades of ghostly grey, it relinquishes its hold, allowing some sun, but strictly as backlighting. The ground warms, soft steam rises from the earth and a gentle, low-lying mist seeps through the yards and streets. A white cloud fills the Delaware like so much chilly winter breath. And at the end of the tracks, the fog waits, measuring the time to pull in to town.
Still A Dreamer 
Jeanne,
That is really beautiful – the poem and the photo. I loved your poem. I love when poems do not rhyme. That is how I write too.
I had no idea you were such a poet!
Great posting. Do more like this, please!
Sheri
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