Serendipititous Skies

I consider it a comfort to wake nearly every day and find a blue sky, few clouds and tolerable temperatures. Torrid heat does mar successive months but eventually triple digits lapse and simply sublime weeks ensue. Looking out my office window, I gaze contentedly at an almost 11,000 foot mountain. Its colors are mostly muted shades of grey. Some springs there's a special treat as desert fauna punctuates the rock face with a touch of green. Too soon it vanishes, crushed by overpowering warmth.

Growing up alongside the magnificent Mississippi River, I developed a natural affinity for water. I envisioned always living near that mighty stream or maybe the Gulf of Mexico. The mountain I see through the shutters is my loadstone. It centers me and quietly affirms that I am home.

Rarely does it rain here in the desert. Sunshine is a given, dark clouds an anomaly. My vista is altered significantly when the mountain disappears.








Last night, I walked out to the patio, intending to turn the turkey burgers that were cooking on the grill. The sky startled me with its deep crimson hue. I hurried into the house to grab my camera, immediately alerting my husband to the unusual sight.




Lacking an unobstructed scene, the resulting photo resembles not so much a fiery sky as the landscape of Jupiter, glimpsed through bushes. Hastily, I moved to the front yard with its expansive panorama.










Within only a few minutes, the vermillion sky vanishes. Its origin is unknown. Today, the firmament's again prosaic. My memory retains clouds and color.