Waiting for the bus on a crisp lovely morning, I see a dozen or more lines across the sky, crisscrossed and fluffy-white.\u00a0 Some are narrow, most, wide with varying edges; undulating cords across the heavens. \u00a0 Are they all made by planes?\u00a0 Perhaps.\u00a0 Maybe the temperature and humidity are just right for these trails to linger and weave strands across the firmament.\u00a0 Some might be clouds.\u00a0 It’s a beautiful pattern of lines and bars some spiraling, others, cottony swaths slathered across the deep blue morning sky.\u00a0 The rising sun heats the nearest lines white hot, glowing, brilliant over the east, turning cotton to white gold, an alchemy I long for.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Waiting for the bus on a crisp lovely morning, I see a dozen or more lines across the sky, crisscrossed and fluffy-white.\u00a0 Some are narrow, most, wide with varying edges; undulating cords across the heavens. \u00a0 Are they all made … Continue reading