Mist

Mist settles on the scene,
over the rising sun
and its perfect double.
It's quiet here,
but not one of those
oppressively quiet moments;
the ones that make you
hold your breath and wait for it to break.
This is a different kind of silence,
a peaceful sort of quiet,
settled comfortably  over the two of them.
The only sound is an occasional
whistling and then a plunk.
She looks at him,
she smiles and takes his hand.
He's caught for a moment-
in the moment -  
looking out over the view,
so still, so calm,
yet he knows underneath
it's teeming with life.
He breaks away from his thoughts,
he smiles and looks back at her.
The boards of the dock are cold,
but they don't mind,
because in this perfect moment,
nothing matters
but a father and his daughter,
fishing in the early morning dew.