A crazed artist hurls pastel paint against the grey canvas of the sky. Every cloud has a red lining from the setting sun, an angry burn that they say signifies excellent weather to come. If it weren’t for the lack of smoke, though the heavy cloud could certainly be misconstrued as the heavy fug of smoke, you could believe that the sky was aflame.
An aeroplane, a hulking monstrosity of metal and machinery, ploughs through the thick cloud, leaving contrails trailing behind as it thundered through the sky. A testament to man’s resilience and fortitude in the face of nature.
Lower down than the plane, two falcons swirl around each other in a mating flight. Feathers rustle as they circle each other, crying loudly to each other. Beautiful, swirling patterns in the chaos of their flight, an emergent, beautiful order from the churning, sweeping flight.
The sky is endless, but even an infinite skyline provides things to focus on.
The Idiot in Tin Foil