July 19.

Clouds clinging to one another, obscuring the mountains.  Sun dipping towards the western horizon.  Honeydew, DSH, Pseudo Sister and me, collapsed on the couches.

Stragglers from a front hydrating the windows.  The pink light begins to command my attention, and I lay aside a piece I am writing, and rise from the couch.

The clouds are circling around, setting up for a glorious farewell to the day.

And then the clouds move back in, and somehow everything is even more resplendent than it was a minute before, supersaturated color bleeding through gauzy layers of cloud.

As the clouds increase in viscosity, the mountains become steely gray knights, gathering around the round table before the battle, shrouded in Merlin’s mists.

Ethereal.  Pulchritudinous.  Sublime.  Mesmeric.  These words were created for evenings in July, in Montana.

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