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