The sun would be out in the morning, they said,
but clouds would return later. I headed out.
I had errands to run, but first I would indulge
in a drive down country roads to see the woods
and the farmlands and barns in this January
sun’s rare light. I’d take a Sunday drive.
Six miles down the road, a turn to the west
revealed the immense cloud bank rising
from the southwest. I turned south to meet
the highway again and make my stops.
The cloud bank flew above me
to my destination and when I parked
I was beneath its head, broad and wide,
its wake of plump white rows quilting the sky,
as pale ribbons of lavender gray lay strewn
in spaced arches across them. It raced
over the sky, its stretched arms reaching
both the north and south horizons.
In a trance of amazement, I walked
toward the store, looking at my fellow shoppers
to see if they, too, were as stunned by the sight as I.
But their faces were blank and grim against the cold,
and not one of them saw that they walked beneath
a great wonder.
