Gray overcast in May at dawn,
stillness separated from a slow
awakening downcanyon, not a breath
to shape the thin white cloud
hanging this side of Sulphur Peak
frozen in my mind. Time has stopped
to hold the finches and sparrows
closer to their nests, coyotes linger
curling in their dens as we drink
another cup in silence, inhaling
this fresh dampness with a cigarette.
Softened hillsides begin to breathe
and sigh refreshed—even the barn
comes clean and alive. Pleasantly
dumbfounded, we add occasional
adjectives, fail to complete
a thought out loud, but nothing
interrupts what our old eyes see.
drycrikjournal 
As my Dad used to say, “Watch who you’re callin’ old!”
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I love the thought, so true, that words can’t express the beauty we see. I could feel the still dampness, but couldn’t the cigarette be smoked elsewhere? 🙂
janet
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Elsewhere, outside the poem? Like good water for coffee, cool damp air enhances a cigarette in the morning. There are things, I guess, folks don’t need to know.
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It’s been beautiful, hasn’t it?
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Fabulous April weather in May, perhaps change is afoot.
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That’s exactly what I was thinking this morning. Maybe our seasons are changing and we’ll get rain in spring instead of winter. Heard there may be more next week.
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Has the axis changed, the magnetic field reversed again, or perhaps we a spinning in the opposite direction? I’ll take it for whatever reason and hope for more. Wouldn’t it be interesting if we got summer rains like other regions?
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The only thing I know for sure about the weather is that anything can happen.
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I felt refreshed by this poem, too. I can see the picture clearly and feel the new damp. Sweet.
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You paint the scene so serenely I find myself standing right beside you in it . . .
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