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There are several large fires burning in northern California and this full moon is shrouded in smoky clouds.
Mountains in Chugach National Forest. I shot this from a car because there was no safe place to pull out nearby. It was a gloomy evening and there was only 2-3 min of time that the light pass through the clouds.
This photo is available for print at Print Store
Los Angeles Photo Workshop on November 16th
I think Charlie Russel was in charge of painting the clouds that day...
If you've ever seen Charlie Russel paintings, you know all about Charlie Russel clouds. If you haven't, well, here's a little introduction:
In old St. Louis over in Missouri
The mighty Mississippi, well,
it rolls and flows.
A son was born to Mary Russell
And it starts the legend every cowboy knows.
Young kid Russell was born to wander.
Ever westward he was bound to roam,
Just a kid of sixteen in 1880.
Up in wild Montana he found his home.
God made Montana for the wild man,
For the Piegan and the Sioux and Crow,
Saved His greatest gift for Charlie,
Said, “Get her all down before she goes.
You gotta get her all down ‘cause she’s bound to go.”
God hung the stars over Judith Basin.
God put the magic in young Charlie’s hands.
And all was seen and all remembered,
Every shining mountain, every longhorn brand.
He could paint the light on horsehide shining,
The great passing herds of the buffalo,
And a cow camp cold on a rainy morning,
And the twisting wrist of the Houlihan throw.
When the Lord called Charlie to his home up yonder
He said, “Kid Russell, I got a job for you.
You’re in charge of sunsets up in old Montana
‘Cause I can’t paint them quite as good as you,
And when you’re done, we’ll go out and have a few,
And Nancy Russell will make sure it’s just two.
~"The Gift" by Ian Tyson
framed & unframed prints, stretched canvas prints & greeting cards available:
katie-lasallelowery.fineartamerica.com/
© Katie LaSalle-Lowery
took this with my camera phone while driving. Love the burst of sunlight coming from behind the clouds.
The Cloud
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,--
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.