December 2: Green Mountains

Driving northward through Vermont--

where Camel's Hump should be

only thick clouds.

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February 27: Weskeag Marsh

Salt marsh at sunset--

all calm except scudding clouds,

parked car's thumping bass.

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November 16: White as a gull's sunlit belly

In the right light

backdrop of clouds, gull in flight

makes me think angel.

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August 6: Cumulus

The weight of summer--

all day clouds gather and shift

atop the mountain.

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June 13: Atop Mount Washington

Spent this past weekend birding in the White Mountains with a group led by Derek Lovitch from Freeport Wild Bird Supply. Our primary goal was finding Bicknell's Thrush, a secretive thrush only found in certain alpine habitats. The first night we went up on the Auto Road in a private, after-hours van to listen for the birds singing after sunset. At the summit, winds blasted us at 65 MPH. It was a bit too windy below, also, for us to see any birds, but we certainly enjoyed hearing them as clouds lit by the day's last light swept over the summit and across the valley.

 

Sunset on Mount Washington--

clouds scudding past,

thrush sings from stunted spruce.

 

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January 26: Before the storm

Blizzard warnings.
Clouds shut down the last blue sky,
sink over the mountain.

December 12: Revelation

Morning, parting clouds--
only the highest ridgeline
covered now with snow

September 16: Androscoggin River

Palimpsest of clouds

floating above reflected in

the Androscoggin.

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June 14: On Mount Washington

In the summit clouds

rocks assume other forms:

owl, fox, mountain gnome.

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May 14: Vultures aloft

Emd of day: clouds roll in.
High over the mountain
eight vultures soaring.

July 25: Small dramas

Recently when I commented on a "dramatic" cloud bank, my little niece asked me what "dramatic" meant. I told her that it's when something makes us say, "Oh, look at that!"

Last evening as we were going into Hannaford to get groceries--does it get any more mundane than that?--we looked up to see these amazing clouds massing over the store, illuminated by the setting sun. The photo doesn't do justice to this meteorological display. Neither does the setting, but perhaps the juxtaposition was what made it all the more dramatic at the time.

Another moment: looking over my garden, I noticed this lipstick-red, exotic-looking flower blooming between the echinacea and sage: 

A friend had given me these bulbs last summer, but I thought they were a one-season glory. I hadn't realized any had grown back this year until this flower appeared in full bloom right outside my front door. I don't even remember what it's called, but catching sight of it so unexpectedly provided another one of the small dramas that punctuated my day.

Don't forget to stop

and really look at the clouds,

the bright red flower.

July 12: Summer clouds

During this idyllic spell of summer weather, the clouds have been spectacular--big, fluffy cumulus clouds that roll across the sky's blue canvas, adding texture and dimension to its bright expanse without lingering too long, blocking the sun, or releasing any rain.

Beech Nut, the sod-roofed stone hut on Beech Hill Preserve, and clouds

Clouds amass above the Megunticook River, as viewed from my office

Blue screen, white brushstrokes--
a folding Japanese screen,
"Sky with clouds and birds."

April 30: Shadbush and cloud

Despite my office windows being shut against today's chill, I could hear the song of a warbler singing somewhere outside. So I put on my coat, grabbed my binoculars, and wandered around looking for him. Around the back of the building, I was confronted with the glorious sight of a shadbush tree in full bloom, one or two of its white petals twirling through the air on the slight breeze. The sun was high in the sky; everything shone, even the single cloud drifting past. Finding the yellow-rumped warbler singing in a nearby alder was almost anti-climactic.

Stretching in the sun,

shadbush reaches for the clouds.

Warbler sings below.

February 25: Space ship

We drove south this evening into a gaudy pink sunset which slowly faded to lavender, then gray, with billowy clouds lingering backlit above the horizon. To the north a cloud shaped just like a space ship hovered above Portland's Back Bay. Rather than dissipating, it retained its shape for a long time. I found myself thinking about how I would feel if it actually were a space ship. I think one of the reasons why some people want to believe in extraterrestrial life visiting Earth is that these alien tourists would be to us like gods: smarter, more technologically advanced beings watching over us, building some pyramids, maybe, or crafting a few crop circles. Maybe they could help reverse global warming. On the other hand, what if they aren't benevolent? I had a nightmare once that I was vivisected by aliens. And of course we've all seen movies like "Alien."

The spaceship cloud was a large one, and it glowed long after the moon came into view. It may still have been in holding position when, in near dark, we reached my brother- and sister-in-laws' house.

Watchful spaceship cloud--
how much we want to believe
something up there cares.

December 28: Dramatic skies

At one point today a co-worker exclaimed, "Oh my god!" in a tone of voice that made me ask what was wrong. "The sky!" she replied. I'd been so focused on my computer screen that I was startled when I turned my head to look out the window. A foreboding wall of dark clouds filled the sky above the river. I wondered aloud if we should seek shelter in the basement before a tornado formed. Yes, this is late December in Maine, but it was 50 degrees today. Anything could happen out there.

A minute later the mailman showed up. He too was casting anxious looks at the sky, and commented that he half expected to see storm chasers following his truck.

The clouds eventually broke up and sun shone with a strange brightness for a while, and then gray clouds gathered again. Fortunately I stood up from my desk in time to catch a pleasingly lurid sunset. These shifting sky patterns made for a dramatic finale to the day.

I hope I never
stop being amazed by sky's
ever-changing show.

December 9: Full Moon

A full moon is dramatic. A full moon hidden, revealed, and then hidden again by fringed clouds scudding over the Camden Hills is even more dramatic.

This is the Cold Moon or the Long Nights Moon, lighting up these long cold nights before the Winter Solstice.

In place of streetlight
full moon poised outside our house,
wreathed by ragged clouds.

November 29: Giraffe Sky

I started off the day with low energy and ended the day in a similar place--just the biorhythms, I guess--so didn't notice much that struck a spark with me. Being tired doesn't help my creativity. But at one point I looked out the window and noticed that the clouds over Mount Battie had formed a cool patchy pattern, like the spots on a giraffe. That will have to do for today.

Sky's a blue giraffe
stretching over Mount Battie.
Brought by climate change?

October 3: Texture

When I left work this evening the blue sky above the rim of trees was ribbed with clouds. I was reminded of fashion magazines touting texture for fall styles: tweeds, bulky knit sweaters, wide wale corduroy, suede, and faux fur. Here we've got poufy clouds contrasting with the thin rippling lines of those ribs. The sky trying on its fall fashions, with just a flash of blue. No reds, oranges, or yellows yet.

When I left the gym later this evening, most of the sky had cleared, but Mount Battie wore a cap of thick mist.

Sky's a ribbed sweater
and mountain wears a cloud cap--
visual comfort.

August 16: Sky

Coastal Mountains Land Trust's Annual Meeting took place this evening in Beech Nut, a stone, sod-roofed hut at our Beech Hill Preserve in Rockport. We were a bit uneasy at first, because it had been raining steadily all day, and to reach the hut you have to hike 3/4-mile up a dirt road, utterly exposed to the elements. But as we began setting things up, the rain abated and a rainbow spread over Penobscot Bay. We took that as an auspicious sign.

At the end of the meeting, as mist lifted from the mountains and the day's storm clouds passed away to the east, sunlight broke through to shine on the fields and islands below. And soon, we were treated to a breathtaking sunset--the kind that just gets more beautiful and intense the longer you watch. It began as an explosion of sun against Mount Pleasant, turning it into a virtual volcano, and ended as layers of pinks, purples, and peaches spread across spangled clouds and puffs of mist, a riot of color and texture. 

One of the special aspects of Beech Hill is its open summit, revealing the sky in all its glory. Tonight I felt grateful to be able to watch the sky shift through so many moods in such spectacular fashion as we celebrated the Land Trust's 25th anniversary.   

Thankful for these clouds

making rainbows possible

and-oh!-this sunset!

July 27: Illusions

Back in the 1930s my grandmother had a beau who would take her flying in an open cockpit plane. She said it was the most amazing experience flying through clouds, reaching out expecting something tangible, perhaps silky gossamer threads, but, surprisingly, feeling only moist nothingness instead.

Clouds can have a real solidity. They form shapes and move with a purpose, sentient beings of air. This morning when I arrived at work, two big balls of clouds hung over the trees across the river. They seemed to possess a heft: cloud breasts, perhaps, or giant fluffy footballs. But really, they carried no more weight than their accumulated volume of water vapor. Very large illusions. You can't touch this:

They oppress the trees
with their weight that is no weight--
great balls of water.