Moonbeams reflect off the water
Like silver shards
shining through the wispy fog.
The coffee has grown cold
but he still takes a swing
from his canteen, feels the bitter
liquid run down his throat.
All of creation has been hushed.
Nothing stirs amid
the firs and oaks surrounding the lake.
Love the stanza with the coffee, especially where he takes a swig even though it’s already cold. Great choice of words. “Shards,” “canteen,” “wispy,” “hushed,” not words you see too often. Love it!
I can ‘see’ the picture before him and I love the silence of the scene. You capture it, beautifully.