As I watch the bright blue sky,
Painted with a broad gentle brush,
Wisps of paleness barely change the colour.
The occasional bubbles of white
Floating majestically by,
Changing their shape ,
Varying the images they bring to my spirit.
There on the horizon, painted with a dark brush,
Darker clouds edge their way towards me,
Mountains of black, slowly stealing the light.
The rumble of kettle drums are distantly heard,
Until with a vast crescendo,
A streak of bright white flashes beneath them
And strikes the ground
With a sound like a crack from a whip,
Almost bursting my ears!
The black slowly changes to grey,
And then back to white.
And the vast yellow ball,
That has been hidden,
Spreads its light over me,
And over the land beneath me.
The greens and browns and blues and yellows
Are once more painted in my mind.
The wonderful, spellbinding glory
Of nature’s ever changing canvas.