On a gray and cloudy January day, it’s nothing more than a desire
to picture a heavy new coat of snow, clinging to the branches
of the dogwood tree.
morning
Tag: sky
sail away
on a lazy, warm, September day
in the air
I want to get caught in the spirit of some idea or words and write something that feels like the ocean, like lightning in the distance, like something glorious. Like the lights that shimmer off ordinary plants after a rain.
floating
Why are clouds so much more when they hover above the open sea? Something about the color of the ocean and the blue sky and summer cotton clouds, ahead, above, and all around. The sky and the ocean, similarly infinities.
Someone’s gazing at clouds from a spot on the shore, and I wish it was me. I can almost feel it now. And I wish it was me.
clouds
The picture of a cloudy day, unpretentious treetops, and a white expanse of nothing. A simple palette and few expectations.
Sometimes I look for heaven past the treetops.
I could shut my eyes and envision the divine among those dreamy colors that shine through the back of our eyelids. But I don’t.
I picture heaven somewhere far, far up past those treetops, and the stars and planets, and past a vast emptiness that’s not ours to see.
It’s a cloudy day. The browns are browner. The greens didn’t bother to shine.
out on the edge of darkness
I’ve only seen the milky way once. If I had to guess, I’ll never see it again. I suppose there are people who live in the middle of nowhere and see it often. Sometimes? Often? I don’t know. But. There are stars.
And there’s the milky way.
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This is a night sky with clouds. I surely don’t have any photos of the milky way. “Out on the edge of darkness”, those are words from Cat Stevens’ Peace Train (1971).
open sky
old ways
Not a snow sky. More like a piece of white typing paper placed behind jagged branches. Vertical lines in random patterns, set decades ago.
reflection
the end of may
Sometimes I sit out back in the dark
at the end of a depressing day,
and it’s quiet,
just quiet,
nothing but me and the quiet.
Sometimes I see stars shining up there, far past the trees.
But tonight,
I don’t see stars.
Just the tops of tall trees and past them nothing.
Nothing but gray skies.
Sometimes I look up and see a flicker.
Or I imagine a flicker.
Like a firefly?
It’s too soon, isn’t it?
I remember the 4th of july when fireflies lit up those trees
like some kind of magic.
Like the magic that’s only real in memories.
Sometimes sitting in the dark listening to the quiet makes me think.
photograph from may 23, 2020
etikser 