Eyelids stick as cool air from the open window wakes me.

The room appears dimmer than usual as,

For the first time in weeks,

The sun’s penetrating gaze does not invade the skies but instead

Hides behind the saturated clouds in shame.

Peering from my window,

The forest on the mountain is heavy with moisture,

Its trees bowing to the blanketed sky in gratitude.

How I thought I adored the sun; it’s

Eternal, burnt-orange, dusty glare!

But, looking out onto Table Mountain’s misty flora

And, feeling the breeze that the leaves on the branches

Seem to swirl in my very direction,

I cannot help but fall in love with this overcast morning

And the touch of blankets, rather than sweat,

Caressing my skin.