Clouds Like the Ribbing

My daughters pointed it out to me at the end of the dinner, the sunset was beautiful.  Clouds like the ribbing of some whale belly were lit with increasing ferocity as they dropped towards the western sky and the mountain shelf of the gunks.  I snapped a few shots and threw a lite sweater on to sit out here and watch it fade to black. 

I posted a number of old posts last evening and the rest this morning.  About half a month’s worth of entries in, reviewing the work as done I noticed that one post from 5/31/20, which incidentally also profiles a sunset picture, was never really posted.  It just sat there as a draft.  To properly fix this, I’d need to delete the last sixteen posts and properly post it in order and then redo the others, with the photos culled anew.  Tired, and busy I just added a note:  “(properly posted 16 days before this appears).”

A minute ago there didn’t seem to be any mosquitos, but now they’re here, or perhaps they’ve just smelled me out.  A noisy catbird is calling to my left off to another catbird, way off to the right.  The bats have appeared now, as they do this time of the evening.  I wish they’d flap through here and eat up some of these blood suckers.  The amount of the sky covered by the whale’s ribbing has grown and the red that remains, just above the cliff has intensified. 

I brought my Charles Chestnut anthology out here but it’s too dark to read it now.  Three days hence will be the longest day of the year and then, with a tinge of sadness that always follows, things will begin to contract day by day, until just before Christmas.  Chestnut is, like Paul Laurence Dunbar, flush with vernacular, juxtaposed with stylized English and while the common tongue is easy enough to follow, it doesn’t make for quick reading.  I need to slow down to catch the suggestions and unpack what certain spellings prop uh lee  mean.  Not much red left in the sky now.  The faint trace of light will last longer.  The earth is turning at such a sharp angle this time of year, that light will return only six or so hours later.   A big frog down there is bidding the sun farewell. 

Wednesday, 06/17/20