Heavenly Tones

The sky so wide,
Laced cherry through carnation canvas
Egg shell fringe dare hide
Swirling buff cream clouds darken
Sun sleeping—fading away
Sky scrape taking hold
Heaven’s tone
Surprise rose, my stilling stare
Light meets tone—captures color
Sweet majesty entrances me


Perhaps I’m still use to my former southern Oregon home where the sky is framed by mountain ranges. Looking to the zenith rivalled glancing out a green-framed window. Perhaps in Wolf Creek—nestled in the bosom of the Rogue Mountains, an appendage of the Cascade Mountain Range—I had a natural frame of reference to measure the distant between the heavens and my head. Perhaps time has faded my memory, but I don't remember clouds looming on the horizon.





Perhaps here in my new home of Calgary—roughly 2000 miles closer to the sun, moon, and stars, than Wolf Creek—the puffy clouds are simply closer, the wispy passing ivory haze could almost kiss my cheek.

I know the crimson sky at sunset is sunlight reflecting through natural and artificial air contaminants. I know wind creates the dramatic swirling patterns in opaque clouds. Yet looking up to canvas above I know painters hundreds of years ago depicted their God’s breath in the heavens.