Jaiia Earthschild
Photo by Loic Le Guilly from Hobart and Beyond: http://hobartandbeyond.com.au/ with permission.
The clouds have fallen
crashed into the Derwent
obliterating the far shore
a mere brush stroke of forest peering over the
pearlescent billowing purple.
What made the sky dancer
so heavy that it abandoned its origins
and now is smooching with the river?
Sky and sea merging like this,
making a point to this peeping poet…
Sea and cloud are subtle variations of
the same vague molecule
Of course we all know this but
when the sky falls into the sea
rolling across the river like a
soft whipped meringue,
one begins to wonder – what
keeps them separate in the first place?
Even now they make believe as
individual elements –
the current and the billowing
like silk and satin
or cotton balls and twill.
It is difficult to take
this morning skyscape seriously
when the sky has in fact escaped from
where one generally expects it to be.
And although land remains stolidly where
it always (mostly) is and water continues on
in its placid morning manner,
the entire elemental shebang seems
thoroughly confused…
“The sea looks cloudy today”
or
“The sky has slipped its moorings”
or
“It will be raining upside down so please invert your umbrellas”
Meteor-illogical improbabilities.
Perhaps to others watching
this would be a mist but it is not
I know a mist when I see one
and being London born in the 50’s
I can assure you that this is not a fog
It is a clear (or foggy) case of
“When the clouds begin to fall…”
