Painting the sky

I tried to paint the color of my mood,

Looking inward at first, seeing nothing,

Then outward at the mirror of the sky:

It was gray – gray as the lead of a pencil.

I brushed a dull wash across the canvas.

From that gray wash the storm-ships came,

Buffeted by booming waves, unleashing

Lightning bolts from thunderous cannons,

Electric streaks of white lit up a sea

Of ultramarine blue and burnt sienna

I thought that I was the one who was painting.

But something intervened. The weather turned.

A light breeze brushed the storm clouds out to sea.

The sun mixed bright colors in the palette.

Rainbow paints the sky for me.