A strange thing has happened in the last couple years. Well, one of many strange things — I’ve become perplexingly fascinated with clouds.
Driving to work last week, at every red traffic light, I tried to capture a shot of the sky with my camera. Why are traffic lights never red long when you want them to be?
More amazing to me was that no one else was doing the same thing. They stared straight ahead, unseeing, busy talking on their cell phones.
Variations in cloud patterns catch my attention and hold it.
My camera often does funny things with the photos — lines are blurred, colors changed. The camera lens sees things differently than I do. Never quite managing to capture the intensity.
It all plays together — the clouds, the light, the sky, the wind. Even the seasons make a difference. It’s a symphony, an endless variety of major and minor chords. A work of art — sometimes a beautiful Monet, other times something from Francis Bacon.
It occurs to me that rather than writing about clouds, I could be writing about people and how life can play us like a grand piano or a guitar with broken strings.
Like a cloud, we can be changed by light (love) shining on us, or by the withdrawal of that light. We can be blown in different directions. We can sometimes feel heavy and dark, or we can feel insubstantial, barely visible and sometimes not there at all.
Maybe if we get out of the way, let go of our expectations and egos, the sun will shine through.