Beauty Rides On A Misty Current

Beauty is in subtlety.
Jet black morning
slowly rolls away.
Eastward early rays
fail to penetrate early gloom.

Low-beamed headlights
illuminate painted road lines
disappearing mere inches ahead.
We low-speed march south
to the Interstate.

I hunch over steering wheel
in the quiet dawn,
fearing moving animals
wandering onto pavement.
True dawn does not come.

We reach four-lane concrete;
silent, low on traffic.
Vanquishing barely thinning fog,
the early rays
start to reach tired eyes.

Green fields and valleys
are revealed; a curtain
is opened by magic hand.
Gossamer drapes part;
beauty riding a misty current.