the gibbous moon tints

the gibbous moon tints

 the banner of crystal clouds 

with a pink halo

The gibbous moon nestles like an ostrich egg in a circle of pink and white down. How quickly the high cirrus clouds slip away, while the much higher moon continues her slow ascent across the cobalt canopy. The Earth-born Moon, like a grown child, long ago moved away from her mother, but not too far. They remain connected by such a strong, invisible umbilical cord that the Moon never turns her face away from her mother. The clouds are also Earth-born, as is the atmosphere which they inhabit, but they hug their mother closely, afraid of the great emptiness beyond.

changing cloudscape at dawn

changing cloudscape at dawn --

pink wisps above purple puffballs

above indigo shoals

How quickly the cloudscape changes, layers shifting with the wind at different altitudes. While the Sun is still below the horizon, long red rays touch the clouds, tinging them pink. Above the fields of corn stubble and grain silos, a wispy pink fringe of rain, blown by a high wind, curves down above a phalanx of purple puffballs. By the time the Sun lifts above a grove of trees, its pink and gold beams shoot out through indigo shoals. "Red in the morning, farmer (or sailor) take warning." But the promised and much-needed rain does not fall on the thirsty soil. By midday all that remains of the cloudscape is a lacy tracery of cirrus in an azure sky, mirroring the fractal branches of a shagbark hickory.

fish backbones, mare's tails

fish backbones, mare's tails,

albino peacock feathers,

ice crystal fallstreaks

The Artist is painting the cerulean dome today with delicate, celestial brushstrokes -- ethereal cirrus clouds composed entirely of ice crystals that cascade through the high winds of the upper troposphere. The fallstreaks look like white locks of angel's hair, swan's wings, albino peacock tails, white mare's tails or the bleached backbones of fish, cirrus vertebratus.

shadow, no shadow

shadow, no shadow --

fog in the morning, midday

sun, clouds at sunset

Groundhog Day. According to folklore, if it's cloudy on the second day of February, spring is on its way, but if it's sunny the woodchuck will see its shadow, bolt back into its burrow and there will be six more weeks of winter. We've hardly had any winter to begin with, so if the woodchuck saw its shadow today it would more likely mean the start of winter. 
          However, it's hard to say whether the groundhog saw its shadow today or not. The day begins with thick fog, so if the woodchuck is up early, no shadow and spring is just around the corner. But by midday the fog has cleared and the sun is shining, casting shadows everywhere and frightening the groundhog back into its burrow. In the afternoon, the delicate cirrus clouds spread and thicken into cirrostratus, obscuring the setting sun, so no shadow and we're in for snow.
          The weather report predicts snow tomorrow, but then this is the Midwest, so you never know.

lone sundog follows

lone sundog follows

its master, guarding the sun

from dark cloud demons

Whenever I see a combination of clouds and sunset, I race to the highest hill for the show. This evening the sky fills with inky feathers of cirrus uncinus clouds, blown into lovely curves by high winds. Just above the horizon the sun dips into a gap between two layers of ice-crystal clouds and the refracted light creates a single parhelia, a mock sun that looks like a piece of rainbow dipped in gold. On the same level as the sun, the sundog appears to be separated by a hand's width held at arm's length. Like a faithful dog, the sundog brings up the rear, guarding its master from dark cloud demons hovering above.

angels with fiberglass

angels with fiberglass

hair streaming in the wind high

above mortal heads

At noon a fleet of solemn cumulus barges sails slowly across the sky, followed by a sprightly chorus of cirrofibratus angels trailing their fiberglass hair in streamers as they zoom across the azure dome, driven by a force we earth-bound mortals cannot feel.