SKYWATCHER
SKYWATCHER
I have ever watched the skies.
In Galveston's 1940's I observed the fascinating incursion of winter's "blue northers" that brought cold, windy awareness of the season.
The eponymous dark clouds were shading to blue-gray, and with their color carried along the sweet odor of the refineries of Texas City, from across the bay to the north.
The delicate pink of sunrise over the Gulf, viewed from the early morning Seawall, defies comparison — and caresses the senses throughout the slow ascent of the morning sun.
And in Austin in 1960 the tumultuous clouds of the summer thunderstorms were frankly gray, with no apology for their color or angry roiling. And I studied with bated breath the occasional green tinged skies that warned of possible tornadoes.
But I have waited until today, some sixty-three years later, to view ORANGE clouds.
At dawn, in the western sky, when the promising sunrise should have painted the skies a luscious pink, a novel display from some secret palette flooded the entire western sky's morning clouds with a distinct orange.
I stared with disbelieving obsession while the orange increased its brilliance — and then quickly faded to a pedestrian gray.
I remained but a minute, then turned away, with a memory that shall ever remain.
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