Chapter 15
The sky is a palette, the hues the masterstroke of a Great Painter. If I had beliefs in a higher power they would be reinforced daily by the movement of color in the dome overhead. When we begin our day at dawn the sky is mellow, a yellow light along the horizon with layers of magenta and lavender reflecting gauzy clouds. As the day progresses everything softens to a pastel vision of soft pinks and see-through blues with clouds like cotton balls meandering like vagabonds until they shapeshift into faces or cats or squares. Yesterday two long clouds floated past with outstretched sides, like two people hugging, and I was sure I saw my parents.
After a long day of walking, the night fades from green to purple, and with the darkness comes flashes of luminescence. With the lack of
