Pink Sky Won’t Lie

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

There it was.

Now she knew what would certainly happen. It did not matter that the calendar had counted down the days for many weeks. It did not matter that arrangements have been made, checklists marked, letters sent, particulars organized. She suspected, she resisted, she pretended …

Till now.

“Pink sky won’t lie,” her grandfather had always said. A fisherman all his life, he’d counted on the minutia of the heavens to warn or greet his days.

She’d learned to accept his observations, no matter how disappointed she was with a last minute reversal of plans he’d made for her to go with him. “The water is no place for children today,” he’d say. And saddened though she’d be, she knew enough to respect his judgment of the weather, and knew him well enough to know that nothing she could say or do would dissuade him once he’d made up his mind.

“God may control the weather,” he’d tell her (though always well out of earshot of her grandmother, who would’ve boxed his ears for speaking heresy, grown man or not). “But to me the weather is the real God. I can’t see God, but I sure can see these skies, and I know what they tell me. I heed those clouds. I heed those waves. I heed those colors in the sky.”

And heed he had. Though heeding did not mean one could always escape the wrath of what was coming.

The waves had claimed her grandfather when she was not yet ten. A fast-moving storm that all had later said no one could’ve out-rowed. She almost stopped believing after that. Stopped taking heed.

Because if Grandfather couldn’t read the sky or if the sky could hide its meaning from him, why even bother trying? What will be, will be. Que Sera sera.

And yet, someplace, she never did stop checking the color of the heavens every morning. Somehow, she never did stop glancing out of windows, no matter where in the world she found herself, or how far from any seas or oceans.

Oh, she listened to the forecast. She had the Telly on while she got herself ready for the day. She checked the extended before she packed.

Yet she trusted few things better than what her own eyes showed her: Pink sky at night, sailor’s delight. Pink sky in the morning, means sailor’s warning.

The sky were ablaze.

It was dawn.

She considered herself warned.

 

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto Challenge

 

The Richness Of You

sunrise florida NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

If a hollowing sorrow

Catches your breath in a

Hold

And then folds

Like a snail

Into what can’t

Be told …

Let the richness

Of you

Spread like gold

From a long ago story

Foretold,

Like the waves’

Gentle touch

On a morning’s

Threshold.

 

 

 

For dVerse’s quadrille challenge: Rich

 

 

Pink Herald

pink dawn KarenForte

Photo: Karen Forte

 

As night

Folds wings

Of gray,

Pink sky

Herald glory

Of today.

 

 

For the September Squares and Six Word Saturday challenge

Special thank you to my dear friend Karen Forte, for THIS DAY’s (literally) gorgeous beginning.

 

Waiting For Sunrise

waiting for sunrise InbarAsif

Photo: Inbar Asif

 

Silently

Night retraced

Steps across

Dawn’s new ledge

As the dark

Slowly braced

For light soon

To emerge.

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Light and dark

 

Caffeinated Mist

Coffee Tzur Moriah

Photo: Tzur Moriah

 

Come the peak

Of a morning

Perched atop

Milky alps,

A mug of brew

And its message

Wakes the mind

Warms the heart.

 

 

For the Friday RDP Challenge: Coffee

 

Awakening Priorities

Coffee Tzur Moriah

Photo: Tzur Moriah

 

In the cold blur of morning

Atop a bare, frigid slope

Here’s to friendly warmth brewing

And a good view to scope.

 

 

For The Photo Challenge

Life, Captivating

dream catchers OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

As you breathe in the early (too early, today)

Pinking dawn of a fresh

Brand new

Day

May it catch on the ledge of a dream

That had your soul

In its sway.

 

 

For The Daily Post