Soon To Sleep

The early mist hung heavy on the fen, its cold dampness filming my face with dew. A herd of legless cows slow floated by, attended by the churr of scalding wren. Overhead, a silent owl, hunting, flew; All while, the dog pressed closely to my thigh. The sun had yet to make its presence known pre-dawn, a spell for shadowless vague forms to lurk beyond the edge of ancient wood. Daylight would soon appear, the moon dethrone; with victory, the world about transforms. I do not wish this dawn, although I should.