Bands of undulating clouds drift imperceptibly across the morning sky. They range from brooding dark grays to ephemeral puffs of cotton balls on their way to disappearing. With the sun still low in the sky one can glean that it is still winter here in the desert. These are the patterns of weather that are clearing where the trains of clouds are moving out.

When these clouds arrived a couple of days ago ready to offer us rain they appeared on the horizons as thick blankets relatively monotonous in their diffuse dark heavy cover. If we do get so lucky that they open up, dropping their contents upon us, there is greater hope for a healthy wildflower season to follow. Winter rains in the Southwest are typically pleasant affairs compared to our blustery monsoon season during the late summer.

With the first winter rains not only do we get to revel in the sweet scent of petrichor in the cool morning air, but are also bathed in the incredible aroma of creosote. The sun pokes through some of the fracturing clouds and will peek in and out of view, often teasing a bright shining knife’s edge off the cloud it is trying to pierce.

Meanwhile all around us, the clouds continue their transition, opening up patches of blue sky where high above the lower dark clouds windswept thin white veils are hiding the majority of our view of blue space.

This all happens in the first minutes after stepping outside and instantly I’m drawn into wondering how many or few people will notice their sky on any given morning? For me at least there are two times a day that the sky holds the greatest potential to wow us: daybreak and sunset. Today I was struck at how rare this opportunity to marvel at the sky is really. On most days here in my corner of Arizona the sky is clear blue without a cloud to be found. Even on rainy days, we see blue skies, and when I lament the oppression of eternally sunny, though at times incredibly hot, days here where we live, I think people find it incredulous that anybody should kvetch about great weather.

There is something to be said about how weather changes our perspective and that bad weather, in particular, brings with it a change in mood and desires to burrow into the nest to find coziness in bundling up with a favorite hot drink. It’s not uncommon over the winter here in Phoenix to have our windows open every day, which is quite the respite after having been sealed inside for our long summer days.