Weekly photo challenge: Rise/set

To illustrate rise, the softest pinks and purples of an early morning sunrise from a quiet cove at Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire.

IMG_1274

To illustrate set, an ominous sunset after an unforgettable tornado and high winds slammed through Fargo, North Dakota, on an otherwise quiet, mid-summer day.

dsc03115.jpg

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/rise-set/

 

 

On the Edge of the Plains

Headed for the sky.

Headed for the sky.

On the Edge of the Plains

June 27, 2004, Fargo, N.D.

 

The highway peters out

to washboard gravel

on the edge of the plains,

where we are invited

to eat bison kabobs

and gooseberry cobbler

and slap mosquitoes

and swap stories.

In soft twilight we listen

to cottonwoods rustle

beyond the rhubarb

and Tom’s voice and guitar

roam through cowboy

tunes as this late June day

whispers vespers

on the edge of the plains.

Let this journey take us

where it will.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Light

The sky after the tornado

New Englanders may think their weather changes by the minute, but I think the Midwest has them beat by a mile. Memories of my childhood include lots of moments just watching the sky change before my eyes. With nothing getting in the way like trees or suburbia, you could see what was ahead of you or what was racing up behind you. Clouds could take so many shapes and colors: green golf-ball shapes that bubbled and black banks of night that inked out the day and white cotton that blanketed the sky. Maybe that’s why the sky still captures me. I always feel its presence when I return for visits because it fills up the spaces so much more there.

This photo was taken in Fargo, ND, in 2004. The city’s tornado sirens had just stopped and I went outside and saw this sky. I found out that a tornado had touched down not far from the university housing where I was staying. I was in North Dakota and Saskatchewan for six weeks that summer and the tornado sirens went off at least four times during my stay. On those wide plains where wind was the only constant, it felt like you had to hold onto the earth with both hands.

Heading Home in a Storm

Jagged rage flicks overhead,
      grumbles in primeval throat.
         
Maddened cloaks of sea green
                shroud tunnels of tall corn.
        Truck headlights skitter over
     splintered cottonwood sentries.
You look back at rosy sunset,

           then grind clutch,
    
                        spit gravel.
  

http://www.sliverofstone.com/Julia_Meylor_Simpson.html#Julia_Meylor_Simpson,_Heading