Sunrise put on a better show than usual this morning.
Lots of clouds in the sky, shreds and tatters of them, huge billowing pillow-patches, covering half the sky or more. Down near the eastern horizon, just above the hills separating the valley from the basin, a cloud bank looked like nothing so much as the tendrils of steam rising up from a nice hot bath.
The sun was at just the right angle to paint the lower clouds in lemon and gold and white, while the higher-up and further-away ones wore magenta on their eastern edges and their bellies with deep gray above. And the sky…between the hills and the tendril-clouds it was as close to mint green as I’ve ever seen it, and where it wasn’t covered by clouds it ran the color gamut from robin’s-egg to true sky blue to pale blue-violet, except off to the west where sky and cloud shared the same indeterminate gray.
(Indeterminate Gray is the name of my next imaginary band.)
The quality of light reminded me of storm-light, where the sun breaks through heavy clouds to wash walls and trees with a deep yellow, almost orange tint — you’d have thought sunrise and sunset had changed places if you lost your sense of direction. And as my bus ride continued, the light turned more subdued, each leaf of the taller trees picked out in silver-gilt. Those trees we have that do autumn color — and we do have some, although I couldn’t tell you if they’re native or transplants — stood brilliant in their reds and oranges and golds against the western clouds.
I haven’t done it justice. It was glorious.
I’m glad I was paying attention.