Dave Bonta's short poem moves from a wide view to a small, close one. In the first stanza the speaker looks out at far-off ridges, blue with distance, their tops lined with yellow light. Then the clouds take over, and the comparison to an old wool blanket makes the sky feel heavy, soft, and a little worn, like something familiar rather than threatening.
That blanket image seems to lead straight into the last stanza, where the speaker pulls the shades and settles in for a nap. The mood is drowsy and unhurried. The final detail is the best one: a woodchuck thumping under the floor. The word "wakeful" sets it against the sleepy speaker, so the house feels shared with another living creature, busy just below. The poem doesn't state any big feeling, but it suggests contentment and quiet humor, the ease of staying indoors while the weather and the animals go about their business.