“As the sun struggles to penetrate the clouds to shine its golden hour on Yosemite's El Capitan”

Mist shoulders the valley with silver veils,  
Morning’s hush trembles on granite walls.  
El Capitan sleeps beneath the shrouded sky,  
Sentinel of stone, still through it all.  

The sun stirs softly, kindling behind  
A rampart of restless, stubborn gray.  
Brushes of gold behind curtains of cloud,  
Promise the brilliance that hides away.  

For a breathless moment, time seems to pause—  
River’s faint laughter, the hush of trees—  
As light fingers slip through the ragged seams,  
Etching the monolith in fiery relief.  

A blush on the summit, then molten bloom—  
The face of El Capitan glows austere,  
Cascading color down fractured flanks,  
As the world’s edges sharpen, radiant, clear.  

All are undone by this weightless grace;  
Witness to grandeur slow and profound.  
The sun, persistent, awakens the stone—  
The hour is golden; the valley, crowned.

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