I measure her moods by the Color of her clothing She wears orange Not her best look Neither is dirty-sock white The robe she wore for days She tries yellow It fades to sickly beige Black dress drama at night I prefer the one with sequins To monochrome black When finally she puts on her Favorite everyday dress Soft Carolina blue Like my Alma Mater – Which in Latin means Nourishing Mother – I dance hands held high She pulls my uplifted arms Into an oceanic embrace I inhale her enormity Free from smoke and ash Tell her she is beautiful
Love this poem, Holly! Having spent days, while growing up in the mountains of Montana, in the horrible haze of wild fire air, I felt this! What we take for granted! Good to hear that your sky and air are clearing! Thinking of everyone who experiences the consequences of a fire they did not start. Quite a parallel to the wars we wage on others; soon no one can breath.
Praying for all of our skies to not only clear, but stay that way.
Love it, what a great poetic conceit. And the garb I'm hoping she'll show, when we're long past summer, and winter's no bummer, is a robe of falling snow.
really enjoyed the first line of this poem. really grabbed you. Also love to find a poem that is pressing and relevant. It shouldn't take a poem to get us to appreciate the sky, but sometimes it does. I'd like you as my weatherman.
“Your weatherman” now, that brought a chuckle. Sadly, the air quality has been pressing and relevant and as I open my eyes from a restless night, I look up to see the color of sky. When I finally saw blue, my heart rejoiced and this poem came into being. Thanks for your comment 🩵
Yes, what a difference a blue sky makes. And I loved the visuals in this poem. You gave the sky a personality which I envisioned as a mother. Well done!
This lovely piece of writing made me stretch my mind and realize that perhaps "she" though I might say "ki" prefers blue, or pink and orange at sunset only as well as we do.
The image of the sky changing dresses stayed with me. After days of smoke, that return to “soft Carolina blue” feels almost intimate—not just relief, but recognition. Clean air really is one of those gifts we notice most when it disappears.
Thank you Julie @The Sawyer's Daughter for the restack 💛
Thank you Jennifer @Jennifer Wagner for your encouragement and for restacking 🌻🌻
This is wonderful, Holly, so joyous. I danced too, and swam without a mask!
Like celebrating Christmas in July
This almost made me dance!
💃💃💃
I love the image of dancing when she wears blue. such a sweet detail ❤️
Thanks Pelle for reading my poetry and commenting 💛🌻
Love this poem, Holly! Having spent days, while growing up in the mountains of Montana, in the horrible haze of wild fire air, I felt this! What we take for granted! Good to hear that your sky and air are clearing! Thinking of everyone who experiences the consequences of a fire they did not start. Quite a parallel to the wars we wage on others; soon no one can breath.
Praying for all of our skies to not only clear, but stay that way.
Many blessings and MUCH LOVE! ~Wendy💜
Yes, many parallels and ways we bruise each other and this world. But there is beauty in this world too and for that I am grateful 🩵
Love it, what a great poetic conceit. And the garb I'm hoping she'll show, when we're long past summer, and winter's no bummer, is a robe of falling snow.
I long for snow of the water-based variety as well🌨️🌨️🌨️
I love this Holly! Well done.
Thanks so much Scott🩵
Yea it's been a tough week all right
Beautiful tribute to the sky!
And today is even better🩵
It reached all the way to Boston, and the skies look incredibly eerie.
"I inhale her enormity." Beautiful.
We had AGI closing in on the max of 500. It was terrible but thankfully it has improved. I even exercised outside today.
really enjoyed the first line of this poem. really grabbed you. Also love to find a poem that is pressing and relevant. It shouldn't take a poem to get us to appreciate the sky, but sometimes it does. I'd like you as my weatherman.
“Your weatherman” now, that brought a chuckle. Sadly, the air quality has been pressing and relevant and as I open my eyes from a restless night, I look up to see the color of sky. When I finally saw blue, my heart rejoiced and this poem came into being. Thanks for your comment 🩵
Yes, what a difference a blue sky makes. And I loved the visuals in this poem. You gave the sky a personality which I envisioned as a mother. Well done!
Thank you Denise for your comment and for restacking. And yes, the expanse of light blue sky felt like a motherly embrace. 🩵🩵🩵
Of course! You achieved that image in your poem.
Thank you.
2 words that mean a lot. Thank you Doug and you are welcome 🩵
This lovely piece of writing made me stretch my mind and realize that perhaps "she" though I might say "ki" prefers blue, or pink and orange at sunset only as well as we do.
Love this thought. “Ki” likes orange and pink scarfs, accent pieces 😊
The image of the sky changing dresses stayed with me. After days of smoke, that return to “soft Carolina blue” feels almost intimate—not just relief, but recognition. Clean air really is one of those gifts we notice most when it disappears.
Thank you Antonio, I definitely will not take a blue, clear sky day for granted ever again.
I love the personification of sky here! 😍
Thanks so much Susan 🩵