In the sky I see my smallness and my greatness. The knowledge that the world spins, seasons come and go and each day will have a new beginning and an end comforts me in it routine. Great things will happen and I will celebrate; bad things will happen and I will survive. The mysteries of life are in God’s hands and I’m just to do the best I can.
My father loved and savored the daily events of a sunrise and sunset. I’ve been known to make my family stop so I can take a picture and for a moment think of the permanent change that is our life. Add your favorite sky picture you have taken.

Here are a few of my pictures along with a poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

THE HOUSE OF CLOUDS. 1841

I would build a cloudy house
For my thoughts to live in,

When for earth too fancy-loose,
And too low for heaven.

I sleep, and talk my dream aloud,
I build it fair to see—

I build it on the moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee.

Cloud-walls of the morning’s grey,
Faced with amber column,

Crowned with crimson cupola
From a sunset solemn—

For casements, from the valley fetch
May-mists glimmering,—

With a sunbeam hid in each,
And a smell of spring.

Build the entrance high and proud,
Darkening and eke brightening,

Of a riven thunder-cloud
Veinëd with the lightning.

Use one with an iris-stain
For the door within,
Turning to a sound like rain
As we enter in.

For the fair hall reached thereby
Walled with cloudy whiteness, Take the blue place in the sky,
Wind-worked into brightness—

Whence corridores and long degrees
Of cloud-stairs wind away—

Till children wish upon their knees,
They walkëd where they pray.

Be my chamber tapestried
With the showers of summer,

Close and silent, glorified
When the sunbeams come there—

Sudden harpers, harping on
Every drop as such,—

Drawing colours like a tune,
Measured to the touch.

Bring a shadow green and still
From the chesnut forest—

Bring a purple from the hill
When the heat is sorest,—

Spread them out from wall to wall,
Carpet-wove around;    And thereupon the foot shall fall
In light instead of sound.

Bring a grey cloud from the east
Where the lark was singing—

Something of the song at least
Lost not in the bringing,—

And that shall be a morning chair
For poet-dreams,—when with them
No verse constraint—the floating air
Their only, lovely rhythm.

Bring the red cloud from the sun—
While he sinketh, catch it,—
Bring it for a couch, with one
Side-long star to watch it—

Fit for a poet’s finest thought,
At curfew time, to lean;

When things invisible are brought
More near him than the seen.     Poet’s thought, not poet’s sigh!—
Alas! they come together!

Cloudy walls divide and fly
As if in April weather.

Hall, corridore, and column proud—
My chamber fair to see—
All pass—except that moonlit cloud
To which I looked with thee.

Let them!– Wipe such visionings
From the fancy’s cartel;
Love secures some frailest things,
Dowered with his immortal.

Suns, moons may darken—heaven be bowed,—
But here unchanged shall be,

Here in my soul—that moonlit cloud,
To which I looked with thee.

Show us you best sky picture. Always looking up!