tonight, out walking the dogs, I looked up, and discovered – the sky was a dream, maybe a combination even, all the right mix to sweep me off to paradise duty free, the heat of the day has sighed and gone off to sleep, the oppressive mass of humidity has retreated to some other port, I thought to myself “I wish I had all the money in the world to see this all the time”, the irony, here I was, viewing for free, noticing the same thing, not a perfectly clear sky, no, not a glowing soft moon, no, just enough stars for constellation fishing, a large swath of perfectly white clouds thrown across like cotton candy as a wind sock, with caves and nooks, all little pockets and playgrounds for the gods, a blue sky, yes, a blue sky at night, not the stunning azure of day mind you, more towards dark but still blue indeed, what I imagine the middle of the ocean looks like when no one is looking (but I suppose I will never know), the dogs seem oblivious, but they have access to a whole olfactory world I do not, my nose is free enough of allergies tonight to enjoy the subtle pine notes of the evergreens, a hint of treated water smell as my neighbor’s sprinklers go off and some wayward spray is blown my way, how can even a perfect picture encompass all this? the sights, the sounds, the smells, the experience, at least perhaps the photo can be a reminder, of these little slices, the devices left for us to discover, all laid out before us, to simply look… skyward and be thankful we are here.
the sky is the portrait of a blaze, moments like these there are colors that are difficult to even explain, like flames of deep reds and purples blending and lurking on the horizon, I might imagine how this all looked as I look back with an ancient eye, clouds, white clouds, like angels racing off to the battle, the blaze, the hordes of the underworld that await, the unearthly glow, for what else could this site be? just some random formation of moisture, a construct of nature, weather conspiring to ignite imagination, why lose the spectacle of this all, indulge in the genesis of how stories unfold and are told in the night sky, but not every night, not every night is the show such as this, not every brilliant magenta hue is seen dancing as the curtains of night unveil,the sprites of streaking white angels dive off into the narrowing event horizon, as that lone beacon rises, only three quarters full but bright as any moon recorded, and before a moment’s breath, the clouds are gone, dipped and passed somewhere out of mortal sight, lost to the lands of kings and gods, seemingly swallowed by the ever motioning night, the grand scheme of color carousel has faded out, just the moon, with a spurious eye, casts light from up on down, a reflection of the sun upon the face, ever looking down from that lonely space, the night watcher compels… sleep.
notes… part of my porch series, the sky just had a certain look, for only a few minutes, I pulled my car over, and the muse planted a seed, and it took, and grew into … this…
1.6.2019 From the Porch (series) (I’m a little cold but it’s my fault for wearing shorts when taking out the garbage on sunday night edition)
I wish that I could truly transcribe how I see the night sky this evening, this was not a remarkable day, in any way or form, this was a day birthed in the shadows of a nasty storm, amazing to think how common storms are like common arguments, so fierce in the moment, unrelenting, encompassing all the landscape of the eyes, but they pass over and the common tongue returns to banal banter, that was today if I were to give it a name, some leftovers of bluster rustling the bamboo spires against a bedroom window (such an unmistakable rattling) – but back to my shortcomings, or maybe my lack of complete mastery of my craft (not for lack of practice), I suppose I should be content to compose with the tools I currently possess, not that which I have not mastered yet, so use the only lens I might, describe this most un-descript of nights, but in that exercise is where I shall, let me not fail to interject, to pause, to detect the wonder surround in even these so common of moments, so I paused –
(and took a deep long breath)
this night sky is a mix (not a mixed bag, not a mixed sack, just a combination of the usual customers), some stars that seem set behind a slow motion procession of wispy clouds, just slowly drifting by in sync and guided by some hidden hand, there is a calm to all this and the calm resonates inside (if you let it in), the silent cold, bare trees reaching upward like living statues grasping for something they know they can never attain (but do so stretch anyway), the winter has a way of revealing, the true essence of beings, all the lovely sequins and dressings of the other seasons fallen away, just bare bark, trunk and arms, save for the giant pine stoic, there still in full dress, another deep breath, as the clouds are truly to meander much that like a lazy river, flowing over carefully framed pockets of stars in still pools, in this I try to describe, this most usual of nightly sky.
Remember to pause, look and take it all in, the miracle of life – never ends.