Look for a new post of Sunday Brunch every month on the first Sunday. This column features Tripod Poems, poetic micro essays inspired by three randomly chosen words. These words become the title of the piece, are contained within the piece and are developed into observations on life in the Southwest and beyond.

Misty – Cycle – Humble
Grey overcast softens
the mid-winter sunrise.
Down below, the White Sands
are shrouded in moisture
as their gypsum slowly releases
its dampness, low temperatures
rising with each slight gain
in solar radiation.
I feel humble in this grey space,
aware of my minuteness
in the overall scheme.
Amid these grand complexities
in the cycle of a turning world,
I am a mere mote in a frail sunbeam.
In this mellowing moment,
I am neither ambitious
nor on purpose,
simply unclear
like the weather.
I settle gently
into these muted hours,
while mourning doves
coo their plaintive calls
from nearby trees
and neighboring rooftops.
The subdued light soothes,
and sun-lover though I be,
this misty morning
strangely suits me.
Photo credit: Stock photo edited by Eve West Bessier to resemble watercolor painting