clouds

Sketchbook #1: Two Different Skies (prose)

It was the kind of night you could look up and see two different skies.

The first sky – the real sky – the far away sky – was at the top. It was the deep velvet violet everyone thinks about when they think about night skies between a fading warm spring and an impending hot summer. No diamond stars, just soft and deep rumination.

The other sky – the clouds, really – the closer sky – laid at the bottom. Just as soft but more overbearing, looming than the first sky. Spectral gray palates singed with halogen orange from suburban streetlights.

The wind was warm, too; hearty branches on lurching trees leaned back and forth anxiously. Leaves’ pale undersides carry the second sky – turning over, they carry the dark of the first sky, and they can’t decide for themselves, and the wind has better things to do.

To feel angry like heat lightning flicker with no rain for relief. To be too inadequate to rest and too apathetic to try.

To know God’s presence and not believe. To know his love and not obey.

To know His love and not obey.

To smolder.

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This is an image of the moon shining brightly behind a tree.

Violet Cream

violet cream pastel moon
a light velvety lavender
hints of golden orange
blew in soft clouds
street lights below
defined the road

the road surrounded
was still black
still motionless still
negating any light it touched
hiding any love it felt
if it felt any love at all

hard to tell whether or not
if she wanted the snow
if she needed some time to herself
or whatever roads think
what is it about snow
that reminds us how heartbroken we are

she is the road
everything around her
blends in the background
but she is still black
still motionless still
there.