Stacey Dye

I see past the rain because
there are no blue clouds on my horizon.

I’ve learned to sit with the gray
and find solace in the thump of the blues

that pummel my roof
and flood my gutters.

I see sunshine in the chickadee
that warbles on my feeder at dawn

in the verdant shoot
that breaks through the loamy earth

in twilight, when pinkish day
meets lavender night on the horizon.

I’m open to sunbeams when I reach
out to another in need;

the light comes when I look beyond myself.
Rainbows appear in the strangest places.