There is no notion of sky this morning,
just a low-lying grayness that closes in,
shutting off the sense of anything
beyond the near bluffs and hills
just past the creek.
The dark of yesterday’s rain
and the heavy of this dawning’s dew
still shows in the gravel of the driveway
and the pitted concrete sidewalk
from the patio to the garage.
Some would say it is the start
of a gloomy day,
something heavy and dreary,
perhaps some sort of retained sadness
seeping from the sky into the heart.
I suppose it could be,
that sort of prophecy often eases
into its own fulfillment
and I am not one prone
to finding lift in the heaviness.
But I have noticed the way
that this sort of light,
spectrum filtered by layers of cloud and mist
causes the colors of trees and grass to deepen,
an incredible sense of spring
impossibly green in the low sheen
of mornings such as this.
Sometimes, I think,
the Lord has to dim the call of distant beauty,
the broad expanse of the world beyond,
so that we may marvel
at the droplets on the rose
hanging delicately over the low stone retainer.