Awaiting Rain in the Early Evening

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Yesterday while stopped for a red light I glanced up at the sky. The setting sun shone from behind passing clouds. Spokes of sun framed the largest cloud, like a Russian icon. The stoplight changed and I drove on, only to pull off the road moments later. Bumping down an unpaved sidestreet, I chased clouds the color of pewter and tarnished silver.

The trees cleared and I stopped the car. For long moments I watched. The distant sky still a deep blue. In the foreground, a series of pale puffs formed a stately procession, emerging from the trees, marching across the horizon as majestically as elephants, and disappearing behind the skeletons of houses-to-come.

In the middle distance, two clouds linked arms and embraced. In each, a small opening through which poured burnished bronze, ruddy with the day’s last glow . As they pulled apart, the small opening elongated, narrowed, and, finally, became two.

Flowers in My Kitchen

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This week, finally back from Fotofest, I bought myself some tulips. They are the color of a child’s cheek, flushed from play, and as delicate as the breath on your neck from a child asleep on your shoulder.

I put them in a handpainted vase striped green and white, the green the color of tulip stems. They arc gracefully over the countertop and the basket of apples sitting near by.

The basket is woven bamboo; the apples are green. Amid the apples is one large grapefruit.

If I were to cut it open, its flesh would be the color of a child’s lips, just before it reaches the age of walking.

Bright, with Rain and Cold by Morning

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Today driving home from dropping off son the elder at school, I passed a house with a fresh coat of white paint. Adorning the rail of the porch was a row of white pots, each with a bright red geranium.

Later, on the way to Starbucks, I passed a house with purple shades, the color of the stripe on Senatorial togas.