Driving Home  The sky is white as clay with no sun. All is dusty
gray. 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. 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. Gray
smoke from quaint chimneys blends with the settling fog. All is
calm. All is bright. Still and content.