There are mornings when I look out at the morning, the early morning (it’s 6:03 as I write this), and I understand why some painters make sky studies. Keith Cunningham, though this is not his sky; JMW Turner, who might have understood this one, but perhaps not the van; John Constable, with his tumbling clouds. Mornings when I look, and then look again. How it changes in a moment as the wind blows an opening for the sun, how the pewter sea glistens underneath, how the weight of rain in one area makes me hopeful for the day. (Everything is so dry.)
