Notes from Mexico: IV

Sky sketches

I look out the window, and I cannot decide is the clouds are the brightest, or the sun. There is barely room for blue in the sky because of the light.

Clouds that look like white dinner plates stacked up in the sky.

I look up, and suddenly, the sky has gained a dimension – a plane cuts through scattered clouds, its jetstream delineating the third dimension, a dimension between cumulus and cirrus, a sky where clouds are cars and trees and rivers and hills, where the sunlight casts shadows over cool groves, and illuminated desert stretches. These words are not doing it justice, but nor could a photograph, for with the click of a shutter, all that depth would be reduced to a single plane. And there is so much more than that.

If you look out the window at the right time, the wires run parallel to the clouds.

The honey-coated land as the day begins to fade. Trying to catch the taste of the light in a photograph.

I watch the sun set through the black lace of the trees; an eternal tapestry woven by time.

At nighttime, the clouds are black instead of white – silhouettes against the orange cities below. They pass like widow’s veils, not quite obscuring the light, but dimming it to a more sombre hue. Still, through the veil, there is the orange memory of life, flickering. 

-muse