Enchanted by Sky

Why am I so enchanted by the sky?
I am enchanted
by its living poetry, poetry in motion;
recreated, repeated, refreshed,
history replayed, yet moving toward the future,
an epic unfolding each minute
as new verses are written,
progressing since time was begun
and this sky was set into motion.

I am enchanted by this poem called Sky;
its words are colors and textures:
blended blues and grays of storm-clouds,
soft purples and pinks of sunsets,
warm brightness of sunrise and late afternoon,
layered hues of rainbows,
bright blue of a vast expanse,
deep black of night adorned by starry gems
in the poem called Sky.

In the poem called Sky
the rhythms are weather and seasons:
winds traveling to unknown destinations,
clouds shifting as if in metamorphosis,
rain drumming its ancient patterns upon the earth,
snow dancing in silent swirls of white,
days folding into the embrace of night,
mornings blossoming again from its depths,
the constellations revolving like an ever-turning wheel,
the moon finding and losing itself in shadow,
planets glistening in and out of sight,
birds floating aloft in these streams of rhythms
in the poem called Sky.

Perhaps only angels
can speak the language of such divine poetry,
or perhaps it is known
only to God.
Nevertheless, this poem called sky
speaks to me,
and I am enchanted.