Artist’s Highway

The quiet of night lingers.
It clings to it’s fading reign
As I start this day fresh. New.
Eastward, driving, I greet the artist rising.
I weave my way through walls
Of shadow trees that line and guide my path.
Black has given way to her cyan canvas,
And I watch her work in pallets of pink.
Each skyborn stroke of this morning Mistress
Causes me to gasp with excited delight.
She combs the colored clouds of deepening orange
And pulls them invitingly across my horizon,
As I watch the magic of her morning mute
Them one by one until they fade to white.
With a silent sigh I smile to bid her adieu,
But she explodes with me, before me,
Bursting bright and yellow through that pale veil.

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