Thankful For Clouds

Yesterday morning I talked with a friend who had recently moved from Portland, OR,

 to Detroit, MI, and, of all things, she missed the clouds.

I would, too.

The sky here started rumbling in the afternoon while I was picking raspberries.

I hurried to finish, and when I got inside, the first fat drops of rain were hitting the patio.

Wind whipped the trees and the rain intensified, slanting in sideways from the west,

hitting the windows like a car wash.

It rained hard for about an hour,

and when it was over, I went to the lake to watch the sky.

The sun had just opened a window in the clouds,

lighting a rainbow on the opposite horizon.

The vault of the heavens, so recently a flat blue void,

was filled with clouds, each unique in form,

complemented with splashes of color.

I stayed there watching, thanking God for this gift of life,

so fragile and beautiful,

 grateful to see the sky, to feel the rain-washed air,

and thankful for clouds.

 

I stayed until the rainbow faded into a wash of green and purple...

...then disappeared, replaced by glowing orange.

 How great is God--

beyond our understanding!

Who can understand how he spreads out the clouds, 

how he thunders from his pavilion?

Job 36:26, 29

Linking with Skywatch Friday

and Your Sunday Best

Morning Hills

Beyond our house, east toward the sunrise, is a valley stretching up to distant hills,

and though the landscape is constant, the view is always changing.

Earlier this week, the trees were covered with frost, glistening with iridescent diamonds.

Sometimes the trees stand out in stark relief, outlined by fog...

...at other times, the sky takes center stage, displaying its brilliant colors.

We've watched wave after wave of blackbirds fill the sky in swift migration,

or a lone vulture soar on the breeze.

A procession of seasons washes over the hills.

It lifts our thoughts to God, fills our eyes with wonder, and our hearts with gratitude.

Many, O Lord my God, are the wonders You have done.

The things You planned for us no on can recount to You;

were I to speak and tell of them,

they would be too many to declare.

Psalm 40:5

First posted on February 12, 2011
Linking with Skywatch Friday

Monday's Sunrise

At 7:14 AM, the sky looked promising...

But by 7:16 AM, it looked like someone had turned the lights out.

And back on at 7:23 AM.

Friday, 7:30 PM with Kim Klassen's texture, Lilly

Linking with Skywatch Friday

Watching the Sky

November in the Ozarks was going out wet and gray, 

until just after sunset Tuesday, when the clouds parted, 

and the trees, their bristles stiff and bare, 

painted bright streaks in the sky, forecasting clear days to come. 

I went outside before light the next morning, warm jacket over my wool robe, 

my hands tucked tightly into the pockets. 

 The waxing moon had set, and countless stars, in all their splendor, 

glimmered brightly against an India ink sky.

Constellations, recently emerged from behind their curtain of leaves,

greeted me like old friends.

High above was the Big Dipper, 

and Orion, the hunter, leaned toward the lake,

his faithful dog, Canis Major, at his side.

The night sky was silent, but in the morning light, 

we heard sounds that turned our faces upward.  

A large ragged V of migrating geese was passing overhead,

calling out praises with each beat of their wings.

We walk the earth, we watch the sky,

and we see glory.

The heavens proclaim the glory of God.

The skies display His craftsmanship.

Day after day they continue to speak;

night after night they make Him known.

Psalm 19:1,2

Also linking with Skywatch Friday

Sun, Fog, and a Soggy Dog

It's nice to live in a universe with so many wonders.

Fog rises from the lake this morning as if someone has taken the lid off the green beans. I'm armed with a camera and tripod, but Barley thinks this is a swimming expedition. And he's right, of course, when there's water nearby, it always is.  We find a stick, I throw it out, and he makes a leaping dash into the lake toward the rising sun.  Snatching it from the water, he swims back, a beam of golden light chasing him to the shore.

When he's finished, I compose some shots.  The sun rising through the fog registers in my mind only as a thing of beauty, not as a marker of time, so it's a surprise when I look at my watch and see that almost an hour has passed.  Come to think of it, does time really exist in the fog?

And these are but the outer fringe of His works;  

how faint the whisper we hear of Him! 

Who then, can understand the thunder of His power? 

Job 27:14

Linking with Skywatch Friday