About 300 words.
Have you ever tried to count how many shades of blue make sky?
Just wondering...

A sky is calling

TODAY THE SKY is a bowl of palest chalky blue. Strange, how it seems always that I am at the exact centre of it. I can walk or fly for hours; horizons still equidistant stretch away from me. Only the changing of the clouds leads my eye to believe in time and distance past.

Today the clouds are the finest filigree of delicate swirls, the lightest touch of pale and downy feathers: strewn unremarked, casually, by the interactions of air and water and the mountains of the earth that push and pull the flows. The flows of heat: spirit of faraway fire that warms and convects and dominates our lives with its nuclear whiteheat deaththroes. No mortal hand could sketch this drifting complexity in its chaotic, infinite detail. There are no pigments to match the subtle shading. And I have no words to tell you of all the joy and sorrow I see under this arc of dreamy blue.

Today I see the sunlight glinting off the white wings of the sailplanes as they bank and frolic, taking advantage of an untypical December day. For the joy of wings and sky they play beneath the wispy high clouds.

There are men at the edge of the wood across the field. They are dressed in thick tweed-patterned country coats and green rubber boots. They bear twelvebores, and shoot iridescent-plumed birds down from the bluewhite sky.

Above the men, above the birds, above the sailplanes, I see the straight, menacingly purposeful contrails of the military jets, so silent-high above us. If there is something higher yet, I see it not with my weak eyes. Nor could I say, if it would be there in play.

Oh sky, th'art beautiful. And though full of death, th'art beautiful. To both the hunter and the hunted, that beauty is clear.

From the edge of Lasham airfield, Hampshire, England.
Pwl ~ December 1997 ©

Comet Halle-Bopp

"Que tes pensees soient comme une grande baie vitrine – belles et larges, en reflechissant le ciel bleu."

(May your thoughts be like a big bay window – beautiful and wide, reflecting the blue heavens.)
~ SomaCrow, Jan98

Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die? ~ Alexander Pope 1717