I awaken to skies that would make an impressionist painter feel like dancing, to Canada geese singing in unison as they fly up from the river and out into farm fields to feed. This year's progeny sing loudest up there in the great blue bowl of morning. Their pleasure in being alive and aloft mirrors my own as I watch them with a mug of tea, eyes shielded from the rising sun with a sleepy hand.
Below the sweeping strokes of vibrant color painted across the eastern sky are trees, hydro poles, rooflines and village streets, trucks and cars in rumbling motion, early runners in the park, commuters with lunch bags, bento boxes, newspapers and briefcases headed downtown to another day at their desks.
On a recent early morning walk, Beau and I paused together by a neighbor's fish pond to watch the white and scarlet koi finning their way around in circles, and we noticed that the first fallen maple leaves of the season had already drifted into the pool, making eddies and swirls and perfect round spirals on the glossy surface. No need to panic, it's not an early autumn, just the dry heat of August setting the leaf people free to ramble.
If only I could actually paint skies as magnificent as these. I can't, and the camera will have to do, but what my lens "sees" is absolutely sumptuous, and I am content with my morning opus. Sky blue, rose, gold, violet and scarlet lodge in my wandering thoughts, and on the way home, I think about throwing a whole bunch of clay bowls and glazing them in perfect sunrise colors. Emaho!
2 comments:
Oh yes, bowls of sunrise colors sound delightful. I'm noticing the digital photos I take these days are less true to life on red/orange spectrum. It's as if there's a shortcut being taken to not use all the possible colors. My particular sorrow is between fuchsia and orange red.
beautiful
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