If you had been here this morning, you would have noticed how perfect it was outside. A soft rain dampened the empty fields across the road, and on the lake, a mixed flock of Barrow’s and Common Goldeneyes preened themselves between dives. Then fog moved in, gathering everything in its arms. Your hair would have been covered with a fine mist, and it would have felt like breath against your cheek, as if the weather was sharing a secret with only you. The day was the perfect gray of water in the glass you rinse your watercolor brushes in. The only color you would have seen was the brief flash of a Red-winged blackbird and the dusky blueberry glow of a Jay among the wet lilac buds.
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.