A rainy Oregon Monday morning. The birds are singing, but it's not as joyous as on sunny days. It sounds more like the hangover after a wild weekend...kind of wobbly, and a bit resigned to being wet. Or maybe they're all just too busy stuffing big fat worms into their beaks to make much noise. Last night at sunset the low, grey clouds suddenly moved on, and left these billowy, monumental, Maxfield Parrish-esque thunderheads in the turquoise sky.
I have this snippet of a poem running through my head: "After the rain, good weather. The universe spreads out like a beautiful brocade. Light breezes, high in the trees. All the birds sing at once. What is more natural? After sorrow comes joy."
thanks, the chickens photograph well, they still have the bloom of youth about them. Nice pics of the clouds and rose too, by the way!
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