The Plane, The Mist, and the Moon

An evening walk: a plane, its vapour trails
All golden in the setting sun, sails west
A rising mist on darkening fields below
Creeps Grendel-ish along the forest line

And framed in branches skeletal, the moon
Observes and rules all in the chilling dusk
Without a wind dry oak leaves stir about
And then are still again, and no one knows

Disparate thoughts on a quiet evening walk
Along with the airplane, the mist, the moon