Skies

Several steady jobs has left less time to blog of late.

The end of the first term of the school year sees events compress and time for reflection diminish. I have a long list of students this year and my juniors are especially talented. Assessing their work takes time and attention to detail. It is an ongoing conversation with 64 young people simultaneously. With my seniors the challenge is to convince them of relevance. That class is a government class and the issues seem at a distance to many. Blogging has been left in the dust as I work out those tests and papers and planning. Add in the other projects, advisory positions, and a steady gig helping students prepare for the SAT and time vanishes like pocket change.

What I have noticed of late, when I look up from this desk, are the skies. A look to the horizon has become a giant comic book panel for me. Last Thursday, late in the afternoon, I looked toward Humarock and noted the sky. The clouds formed a giant, gray eye, with the cliffs as the lashes and variations of light serving to create the brow. As the sun would pass behind clouds behind me the affect was that of a wink. I couldn't photograph it and it has taken almost a week to figure out how to describe it.

A few days later the image was one of a road running away from the ocean; the clouds were banked like a turn at a NASCAR track. The effect was the sun flashing in spots like the reflections off the race cars. All that was missing was the sound of engines in Doppler mode.

At night the skies have traffic. Planes in formation zigging and zagging. On the horizon you can see the first fishermen or lobstermen; klieg lights glowing as very near stars, a small parade of fireflies. (And it is still night to me, it is early morning by the clock, but it is night when they go out.) The planes and boats supply the sound that the clouds do not. It is a steady up and down of pistons punctuated by a propeller noise any six year old can duplicate on demand. When the roar of the rocks is just right, there is a keen percussion to it all.

The image below is of a group Julie was photographing last weekend. Take a look at that sky and figure out just what story it is telling for yourself.

Thanks to Linda Martin for the wide angle lens and all her help

And to that nurse that met my sister last Saturday: You were right. You can always get in without her.