I was preparing food for the pets when I saw a dark cloud descending, making the early evening sky dense with mist - ery. The air smelled thick and moving through it felt like a slow glid through water. Tree outlines became black against the heavy gray light and a sporadic wind whipped through the leaves shaking many free to swirl in circles descending down only to be swooped up and away again. I couldn't follow their path, the movement was so quick.
Grabbing my camera, I hoped to catch some of this difficult to explain light, but its' automatic settings insisted on a harsh flash of light, ruining the moodiness of that dark, black, down to my feet now cloud.
Moving away from the screened in porch and out the side door into the yard, I noticed the outline of the gable against the watery vapor and snapped the colision of man made precision hallowed by its' everpresent cover. The sky is always there above this roof and it changes its' clothes minute by minute. I miss most of those changes everyday because I am either under it or away from this small summit in the hours of my life.
I am envious of this little peak. It doesn't have to do anything at all but be. The view changes around it all the time. Birds perch on the round tile to sing early in the morning, but I do get to hear their song as I dress for work in the bathroom below.
How the peak experiences all of this is what I want to understand. So far, it has never let on what it does know. I've seen that sometimes the cover of the sky is a cool turquoise, or a hot blue-green. Then there's white, gray, robins egg and cielo blue, too. All colors and weights that I immediately miss because I am ... away. This gable sees and feels and knows the moods of the sky because it is like a sentinel built to oversee this little corner of the world. Maybe by taking this photo I am saying, "thank you" for just being and I hope that beingness is a good experience.
That heavy vapor coalesced right after I got this shot and drops of water splashed on the tip of the gable, cooling it, refreshing it, cleaning it, caressing it. All I could do was witness it, never knowing if this cover of dark wetness was felt as beautifully as I could see it.
Remember these words of Maya Angelou: "Not everything you do is going to be a masterpiece, but you get art there and you try and sometimes it really happens. The other times you're just stretching your soul."