sky

I could look at the sky all morning, from my eighth floor cubical, overlooking the valley of Connecticut. In the distance I can see the sound-- just a foggy eclypse of a grey-blue ocean layered with trees and brush below it.

This is my window-canvas. An ever changing mix of cool colors. The blues and greens enveloping the calm outside and reflecting the sky's whipped egg whites.

Are they water-colors or sky-colors? I will wait until twilight to see fire-colors instead. The pinks and incandecent, flame-like magesty of the sun engorging the sky in passion.

Everytime, is the first time your eyes have seen this one-of-a-kind masterpiece. And if you let yourself be distracted-- if you turn your eyes, to witness the coffee pot, still full and sitting silently, you might miss it.

The paint brush has stroaked a new, darker scheme, and adjusted your view. What you once knew was washed in shades of indigo and periwinkle. The clouds dancing and dispersing into the soon-to-be night sky.

If you watch closely, scrutinizing the five-by-five section of window, you may notice each star slowly opening it's eye, and the moon, sneaking it's opular light around the skyline.