Morning clouds ...

Leaving the house this morning, two-thirds of the sky was blue and a third cloudy from an oncoming front. It was first light and the clouds were lit lightly from beneath, dark on the far side. They had an "italianate" feel, mauve and roseate, but ever so briefly. As quickly as the sun came up the colors and feel were gone and a third of the sky was again the coming front.

Some morning glory haikus did evince themselves ...

And this morning, from Dickinson, a poem for possible use in the CMU lifelong learning class

Hope is a thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.