The need for more sky drove me west

from the canopied south.

It packed my bags, filled the tank and

blew the horn just once.

I was strapped in and champing before

we cleared the street.

Now I stand on a dusty knoll at evening

watching the sun pull

a cover of high cotton clouds to its chin

turning everything pink,

PINK I tell you, and dazzled I wonder

if the Maker gets as giddy

mixing colors as I do by merely looking up.

© Dana Hughes 9.17.17