A Certain Angle of Light

Moisture pushes ahead of the straggling remnants of hurricanes limping far inland from the Pacific, bumping up against the northern and eastern mountains.

A traffic jam of clouds fills the sky with swirling masses of whites, grays and blues.

Cloud sculptures twist and swirl while light plays a melody in concert with the sound of distant geese calling out their imminent arrival.

Dozens upon dozens of rabbits rush around drawing too much attention to themselves,  making use of the cooler morning hours.

Sun breaks through the tangled muss of fluff with bits of light but little color.

Small birds twitter, tap, chatter, sing, peep, mimic, flit, flutter, flap, hum and tweet.

Larger birds sit in silent patience.

A pair of hawks sweep low and silent along a path searching for the unaware and unwarned.

I walk, finding more than animals, birds, sky, water, shades of green.

I listen for solace and a different kind of silence.

I look for something within myself as I walk the dawn.

Thoughts clarify with each step I travel through this oasis.

I gather courage and hope as I pass the creosote, palo verde and acacia.

Each morning I claim sanctuary, and emboldened, face the day.