Clouds

"Look at those shadows!"
I pull over and we watch.
We both like the clouds.

Yesterday E and I were driving in to Santa Fe, and, as is often the case, we were overwhelmed by the 360 degrees of awesome presented by the skies. A storm was coming in, and the clouds were building up, but each angle had a different guise. To the east were summer picnic skies, fluffy single clouds massing together, smiling over the fields. Over the mountains were soft striated grey clouds, lined in front of the piled up thunder clouds which towered high overhead. The blues of the skies were accentuated by the white clouds. The layered white cumulus clouds gathered behind the sharply ridged Cerrillos Hills, with one patch an almost ivory color, another grey-white, another popcorn white. I had to stop to take a few pictures, but of course there is no way to capture the huge overhead expanse, and no way to avoid the telephone wires and other man-made ugliness. It's dwarfed to insignificance in real life, but pops out when framed in a camera.

I started singing cloud songs.  First that came to mind was Simon and Garfunkel:  "Cloudy, the sky is grey and white and cloudy, sometimes I think it's hanging down on me...."  No, that's not right.  "Bows and flows of angel hair, and ice cream castles in the air..."  Better, "but now they only block the sun..." Aaaargh.

Songs about clouds are
Melancholy. Why is that?
Write a joyful one.

We discussed the dilemma, and she promised that if I wrote the lyrics, she would set them to music.  So, today I went through the cloud pictures and haiku that I have posted since moving to New Mexico.  I realized that few, if any, give that top-of-the-world feeling I get when I look up and out over the landscape and catch my breath, and I want to dance across the mountain tops and leap into the sky and, and, and...

It's so soft and powerful and textured and distinct and....there's no one word to describe it, because of the infinite variety.   Herewith, my attempts to capture the ineffable.

Bundled in my robe.

The morning wind greets the sun

And tickles my toes.

Delicate pastel

Pink and blue, with an edgy

Mountainous Border

Tonight's sunset is

Brought to you by cloud shadows

And a slight chill breeze

All is still except

The skies and the flitting wings.

My bare feet are cold.

The birds and I watch

The slow, deliberation

Of a spinning globe

From pink to dull grey
In thirty precious seconds.
I wear a towel.

I don't think I'll tire,

Ever, Of New Mexico skies.

So very textured.

Went to sleep with rain

Woke up to clouds in deep blue

The deck chairs are wet

I text "Look outside!"

"Welcome to New Mexico,"

He texts back to me

Clouds, like snowflakes, have

An endless variety.

Must be the water.

Will I ever lose

My joy in these awesome skies?

My heart flies to them.

Thunder from the hills

And rain over Santa Fe.

I read Gengi's Tale.

Got home just in time:

Crashes and cataracts now.

It's quite impressive.

Rain clouds and rainbows:

She swerves, pointing to the moon.

But I'm not frightened.

We watch cloud patterns.
"An O'Keeffe painting," I think.
"It's like fish!" She says.

Crazy amoeba cloud;
The sunset was amazing

But defied capture.

It's supposed to rain 
But I don't see no nimbus.
Reckon I'll just wait.

I glance up and stare,

Transfixed by the subtlety

Of the final light.

It is difficult

To drive in these conditions.

I guess I'm in love.

Clouds after the snow

I rotate for 360

It fills up my heart.

Snow on the mountains
Clouds in the sky, dark and light.
I can't drive and watch

Bundled in my robe.

The morning wind greets the sun

And tickles my toes.

Soft spiral billows

It's not a tornado cloud

I ponder the source

One hour spent watching

Clouds transforming with the dawn.

Always something new.