Wisps of clouds, almost nothing, almost invisible
Just enough to bend the near-dying light:
The rays from the sun, from that orb that has seemingly drawn new color out of the horizon,
Go there and bend there and glow there
And turn a sky that, at noon, was dully bleached
(An impossible flat-void, or a void flatness)
Into an experiment of color
Which occurs every clear night
Above the dust blanketing this drier, hotter piece of Earth
Briefly pinking it, indigo-ing it, purpling it
-- only briefly --
As the world-sized shadow flow-marches into place
Seemingly infinitely far above
Swallowing the colors for one more night...
And the desert will soon lose its heat, as well, to that next void at the day's opposite end.
Christopher Walsh, 2011
(quickie poetry-like stuff, inspired by the three years I lived in Hermiston, Oregon, 1997-2000, and my travels in those years to the Tri-Cities, the only semi-large-ish city in the region)
© Christopher Walsh, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Christopher Walsh (chris_walsh) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.