Welcome Light

An unobtrusive stillness fills the frame
of my window this morning.
Large clusters of white-petaled flowers
droop at the ends of tired branches.
The oleander looks exhausted from holding
the big clusters up for all to see.
Dark, sullen clouds hang low but
refuse to move an inch, determined to
barricade my window from the sun's
efforts to announce the new day.
It's a 5:30 standoff.

Sparrows, perched under sheltering adobe eves,
don't seem to mind the shadowy part of the day.
Their songs add hopeful joy to the
gloominess.  And then the inevitable happens.
Nothing, it seems, can hold back the sun.

Around the edges of those gray, sulking clouds
a border of yellow forms, then expands its
width until the cloud begins to glow.  As if
responding to a signal, wind arrives and
shoves grayness away, revealing blue sky
and shafts of unstoppable light.

White clusters of flowers perk up and
begin to move slowly at first, the hint of the
dance to come, then bob up and down
like children reaching for the ice cream cone.

It all happens so quickly.  But then morning is
like that, predictable but a bit of a tease.
Good morning, welcome light.