How I snuck up on a cloud

Kneeling,

Picking snow peas

At the cool end of the day.

They are hard to see sometimes

Among the same-green leaves of their vine.

I start low so I won't miss any,

But do, anyway, miss some,

Lifting my eyes slowly

Working my way up the plant

Pinching their stems between

My right thumbnail and forefinger,

I am tossing jade crescents into a bowl

When suddenly I see

Between leaves a radiant cloud

Which I continue to watch

From my blind.