North Shore, Lake Erie 7 a.m. Tuesday, 10 February 2009
I had just gotten up and shuffled into the living room. The warm temperature overnight had brought a light misting rain and fog, and all was a dull gray/blue until I saw the setting moon glowing in the southwestern sky. It reminded me of the tumbled gibbous nugget of rose quartz I’ve had for many years, a perfect little stone to fold in the center of your palm and hold for a while. There’s a pale peachy quality to its color that may be the result of some hematite in the mix. The moon shone with the same peach light, probably due to the ever-present smog of this industrial area that makes the sunset so intense. But beauty is beauty, and often fleeting. All too soon the pink moon grew paler and disappeared into the mist.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.