These clouds that silently appeared
along the western ridge,
that quietly amassed
until they owned the sky,
at least the half of it
where the sun had been

These clouds that signify a turn,
prospect of rain, a wrinkle in our plans,
still paused to let the late sun through
and let themselves be cast in blue

And my desire
is for the same kind of peace
to rule my day –
whatever comes in later still offering
the same generous expanse
of presence and acceptance
and release. 

©Wendy Mulhern
December 5, 2020