Summer Fog

7:06 pm, Friday, July 16, 2010

Summer Fog

If I had a camera, I would capture the soft orange brown of those hills yonder neath the lazy river of fog, the orange that seems to burst towards me and then recedes again, as the misty fog descends.

If I had a paint brush that these unskilled hands could paint with, I would color that stand of tall staunch eucalyptus in the park nearby a deep, dark green like a bouquet of giant wintergreen broccoli against the blue gray fog.

Instead, I pick up this pencil and paint with words.

A bloom of bright white glows for a moment over the far off faded brown hills. Nearby, a patch of deep blue blooms for awhile over the park trees, like sapphire through cotton gauze. It’s a thinning of the fog, like a window into the blue sky beyond. A seagull wings past, on his way elsewhere.

Such a moving symphony, this ever changing mist, this light, these shapes, these colors that flow and meander, that sink and rise, that thicken and thin, like a seascape in the sky. Imagine floating in it, on the mists, in the light, like a feather rising and falling. Imagine flying through it, like the gull, wings up, then down, slicing through the air. Twilight by the sea is different than twilight inland. We are in a Breugel softly muted painting, like Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. Where are our wings?

7:34 pm