Painting with Fragments
I am reminded that it is National Poetry Month…While I am no poet, from my window I bear witness to poetic scenes that words cannot adequately describe. As I take in each detail, fragmented thoughts are recorded in my brain and they are perhaps the building blocks of poetry: A vanishing sun leaves its imprint in the luminous ripples of clouds. Darkness clears the canvas in a vague black and white memory of color. A passing jet leaves a painted contrail above the gloam, as if painting the sunset one stroke at a time in a silent race against the shadows.
The Aerial Horizon 