The sky reads differently in Westport than back in SF. Here, in southeastern MA it has a decidedly feminine quality in its summer softness. This morning, warm, moist folds of mystery and secret quickly skimmed the eastern sky on a northbound voyage. Like a monkfish egg veil undulating spectrelike in seawater (one microscopic egg thick and held together by a web of the mother’s outbreath). Both inspire speculation.
Would these perplexing pleats knit together into a thunderhead? Or purl themselves into pendulous, ponderous skysheep, dragging themselves heavily upriver to cause an afternoon shower?
(And how is it the monkfish veil doesn’t stick to itself, but, like a silky scarf, continues to billow endlessly in its tank at the Boston Aquarium; gliding over and over itself gracefully?)
So unlike the decidedly masculine and extreme Bay Area clime this time of year. I am not missing San Francisco, with its hurricane force gusts of chilling, marrow-bracing fog that is the City’s self-sacrifice and tithe so the rest of the region can enjoy a sunny, hot summer.
Just like the cabin refrigerator’s timer needed to be reset in order for it to work this year, so my inner timer is readjusting to a slower setting more in tune with this climate.
And so I am watching clouds and reading the sky in wonderment, as I regain my bearings, both terrestrial and celestial.
Would these perplexing pleats knit together into a thunderhead? Or purl themselves into pendulous, ponderous skysheep, dragging themselves heavily upriver to cause an afternoon shower?
(And how is it the monkfish veil doesn’t stick to itself, but, like a silky scarf, continues to billow endlessly in its tank at the Boston Aquarium; gliding over and over itself gracefully?)
So unlike the decidedly masculine and extreme Bay Area clime this time of year. I am not missing San Francisco, with its hurricane force gusts of chilling, marrow-bracing fog that is the City’s self-sacrifice and tithe so the rest of the region can enjoy a sunny, hot summer.
Just like the cabin refrigerator’s timer needed to be reset in order for it to work this year, so my inner timer is readjusting to a slower setting more in tune with this climate.
And so I am watching clouds and reading the sky in wonderment, as I regain my bearings, both terrestrial and celestial.
