Up Island Morning

There’s a thickly hushed stillness
to those deep summer dawns up island.

When the torrit grey ocean fog rolls over the meadows
meeting the memory of yesterday’s sizzling sun
and it feels for all the world
as if there is no world
only it’s been swallowed whole in passing
by a white gauze-filled whale.

It is ethereal
a bit eerie
and starkly quiet
but you know that in a few hours
the rising arc of the fiery golden sun
will wring out that blanket of moisture
like a kitchen sponge

and in it’s wake
the stone walls will reappear
and the blades of grass
and tangled grapevines
and the gossamer tips of the marshmallow will glisten

and… taking the place of that heavy and humid air
will be the brilliant light of a Vineyard day
and the swiftly arcing shadow

of an osprey who’s racing to meet you there.