Monday, April 15, 2013

The weather is indecisive today. One moment, the sun is out, it is too hot for the coat I grabbed this morning. The next, the clouds are looming and dark. And then the sky opens up and rain falls briefly. Real rain, large drops that burst when they hit the ground, not the wimpy haze that so often falls in Oregon.

I'm at work now and the clouds are a warm cream color. They're turning orange with the setting sun. The rain is still falling. The sky is criss-crossed with power lines. A few minutes ago, the sun was setting the clouds on fire and a bit of blue sky was peeking out from behind them. I didn't bring my camera with me, so there was nothing I could do but enjoy the view. I stepped outside for a moment. To feel the cool wind on my face--the contrast of temperature to the color of the clouds.

I noticed a puddle on the road. A long puddle, formed in the gutter. I knew, my photographers eye knew, that if I walked to the edge of it and crouched down, the sky would reflect in it and it would be beautiful. There's something painful about approaching something beautiful without a camera in your hands. I thought about not doing it. Just staying propped in the doorway--the air on my face and the gallery behind me.

But I walked over, to the edge, and crouched down, and the sky did reflect in the water. It turned to liquid fire. And those perfect rain drops hit it and sent ripples out that caught the light and shadows and I still didn't have a camera in my hands and so I thought of all the words I could write about it instead.

My life is made up of large stretches of calm with tiny blips of extraordinary life cast in between.

Now I'm back inside, but I can still see the sky. As I type this, the sun is lower and instead of flames, the clouds have turned to embers. They are a million colors. A dark blue grey, a hot pink, a light mauve. They're shifting so quickly I can see them moving. The blue sky is fading and now all I can do is wait for it to wash out and turn dark.

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