The sky is white as clay with no sun.

All is dusty gray.

Fragile

like porcelain, the scene could crack.

I sit cold in my car.

The drive is serene.

Soon a lazy sun peaks around

the west mountain,

dripping honey into Utah Lake.

Golden.

My eyes glory in the juxtaposition

until distance leaves it a

smoldering glow above the horizon,

like the tip of a match

when first blown out.

At dusk, a translucent mauve

dusts the chalk-painted valley.

Peace.

Gray smoke from quaint chimneys

blends with the settling fog.

All is calm.

All is bright.

Still and content.