An anvil crawls across the sky, of soft shape but steel gray, and I wonder when to expect the inbound tempest fray? When comes the lightening and thunder, the shaking window sills, the neck hairs standing upon end -- herald of lightening chills? Will it pass by rumbling distant or strike the local spire? Will it rain so hard that it puts out its own blazing fires?
I
a gray day,
low dreary clouds hang down;
smoky air
clings to the earth —
all is close; nothing moves
II
tall puffy clouds
drift across the sky
like ship’s bridges,
moving in armada
through skies, calm & blue
III
a blue dome,
unblemished by clouds
if not for birds
looking to the sky
would stop the world
Clouds curl over the mountaintop
like waves sloshing over rocks —
a thousand times slower,
but no less persistent
in their repetitive attempts
to swamp the leeward side.
a sun-fired fringe
burns in bright white
a divine glow shining through the clouds
meanwhile, overhead,
grungy woolen clouds drift
with angrier and less sacred tales to tell
A vein of graphite gray clouds glide — low and fast — under a static white ceiling. No patches of blue peek through, today. Oh, where are those fast blackened clouds sailing at such a clip? And are the high white clouds truly still, or does the contrast with these fast clouds hide some sluggish drift. Maybe the higher clouds are too uniform — stretching out to all horizons — for motion to be seen.
Is this low layer of rushing clouds some kind of smoke monster or a drunkard’s dragon? Seems too motivated to just be water vapor.
Taken in Meghalaya in April of 2017 near the border with Bangladesh.
Taken in July of 2009 from atop Stone Mountain in Georgia
Taken in December of 2019 in Budapest.
Taken in August of 2018 in Houston
Tiger Riding for Beginners 