Twice, on my drive in to work this past week, I've been awed at the view. Once, it was as though I had driven into a National Geographic photo, one of those big sky shots which we have all seen, with the clouds raked with parallel lines, as though they had been combed with a wide-toothed comb, and all originating from the same spot on the horizon, but spreading out across the entire sky. A very good way of demonstrating the roundness of the earth, if you are looking for it. Quite amazing to see, and I do believe, the first time I've seen it -- I was going to say, "in the flesh." But I guess I don't mean that. In real life? In color? What is the right phrase to use there? And palest of pale pinks from the early morning sunshine.
The second time, as I drove north, I was heading directly toward Mount St. Helens, and it was a clear bright morning, with thin golden light spreading over my shoulder and illuminating the mountain as though it were onstage, or were just about to have it's First Place picture taken. Sitting on the top of the mountain, and obscuring its flattened top (May 1980, anyone?) was a fat, smooth doughnut of cloud, clearly having been squirted out of the cloudmaker's can of whipped cream -- er, cloud -- so very smooth and round and fat was it. One could almost see the melting squiggles in the side. And a delicate shade of gold, collecting around the edges.
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