Aug 29, 2006

Angel hair and fire and colors and changing

I thought it was going to be clear last evening. Those distant clouds came fast... and then they were so here I felt I could reach up and touch them.

They were dark, but between them the sky was still far above and blue.... the high clouds, whispy ones were up there, white at first, and then fires of orange and pink... the angel hair, flowing in the wind. I stood, then sat at the top of GreatHill and looked over that great, big golden field and those trees at the far end and watched and cried as God painted the end of a day. I don't know why I cried. For all things beautiful, I guess. For all things good. Wishing everyone could see this. That it had to end. That I had to run home.

Don't know why I'm writing this either. Guess I'm wanting to remember. And I'm hoping you can see it in a small way maybe.

1 comment:

Jas said...

you write so well that i could see it.
kinda like a Turner painting, but exclusivly Spar's. it is more than pwiddy...it touches Harts.