There by the hillside tucked beneath the burned out mountains. A village. A community looking to the heavens. Pasadena Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Standing on the Devils Gate Dam the view is wide the sky immense. The sun is diffused by the milky thin clouds. Striking blows of burning light not found. The scrub trees in the marsh pale into violet. Dead trunks submerged in winter flood. I am painting as if waiting. Putting down what is before me but hoping for a spark to detonate the even plain. The sun sets without fanfare. A pinkish yellow haze fading. The last day of January going out with barely a whimper.
No comments:
Post a Comment