A mackerel sky with contrails floated over a late winter field
as if Jackson Pollock had dripped white lines across the clouds.
The view out the windshield on the long commute to work
looked like a Neo Hudson School painting
with pink and light blue around the edges
the shades you might see on a baby blanket.

It was almost as if '
the sky
was giving birth
to a new morning
and a new season.