A week of
glorious skies-
Day after
day, the mortal tries to immortalize.
Some days,
I almost succeed.
Painting
the colourful cloud-filled vistas
Also means
being prepared for light mists
Or a deluge
of rain.
When the
air smells of moisture,
I take my
hat off so that I immediately detect
The shift
into ruinous droplets.
When it
showers,
I turn my
little painting upside down,
I hunker on
my stool,
And wait.
Wait for
the air to clear,
Or the rain
to fall.
In that
event, I stuff my fragile damp painting
Into my pack
and run for shelter.
There is a
peaceful harmony about painting inclement skies.
The painter
is tuned to the landscape;
Trying to
capture
Pale
cerulean on the horizon,
The shift
to ultramarine,
The billowing
cumulonimbus
In mauves
and grays
That are
edged with glowing sunshine.
While the
painter paints,
God plays.