Driving last night, with the evening sky as a backdrop, I was distracted by the Western horizon, still bright with the setting sun. A cerise smudge touched nearly ninety degrees of the scene with traces of blood and milk marking higher cloud and the final rays of the day breaking through.
The same clouds acompanied me on my way to work this morning. A canopy of cryptic corrugations, like snow on willow hurdles , thinning in the East to show cracks of sun like the first shreds of processed cheese emerging from a grater.
At lunchtime the cloud had evolved again and passed from orange peel texture, through crumpled crepe and beach ripples to electron micrographs of prehistoric tooth surfaces, monochrome and strangely ridged.
These skies hold a drama. As picture backgrounds they steal from subjects. They defy cameras.
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