Perhaps a blessing

Each night, at sunset, I go out 

To photograph the colors in the sky, 

For, as with snowflakes, every sunset’s different. 

The infinite variety holds endless fascination — 

The shapes clouds take,

 The patterns on the water, 

The way the world turns gold, then pink 

As the earth turns from the sun… 

But, as with many photographs,

 It’s not til I look later 

That I see the unexpected gifts: look here 

And see the angel in the water, 

Her wings raised as if in praise of light, 

Or perhaps a blessing. 

Now, having seen her, breathe 

 A prayer of gratitude.