Burning Fog

The forest canopy still dripped
from the sky's brimming bowl dipped
through the twilight hours and
the dark of night, but now a bluejay
perched on the dark tip of a 
dead old pine urged nature to relent. 
Dawn muffled the landscape in
fog, densely opaque, no challenge
too far for that oven baking the
upper atmosphere, releasing light 
and firing humidity to the boiling
point. Still, the bluejay, an avian
optimist, pealed its trust in its
maker's better nature. A light rain
descended until reluctantly, the
clouds were swept in a tidy heap
to release the sky and offer full
reign to the conquest of the sun.