The Mountain and the Sky, the Sun and the City
The mountain was real, the mountain was solid. It formed a backdrop against the city and the surrounding countryside, a backdrop against which the sun shone down and the clouds flung themselves in a suicidal movement, releasing their rain – almost with a sigh of relief – and then disappearing back into the air.
The sun shone through the clouds as they marched lazily, yet determinedly, toward their fate. The sun, like a huge prism, hung suspended in the sky, like a child’s crystal ball, seeming to hang above the earth, just out of reach. The deep blue of the sky was almost unreal, it was almost tangible, like you could scoop a cup through the air and capture the color and take it home to paint with.
The rays of sunlight shifting through the moving clouds left dappled leopard-print patterns of light on the ground. The shadow of the clouds alternated with the glowing patches of light cast on the ground in an ever-changing camouflage of light and dark. The glow of the light was so bright that it seemed to hum, a rich and warm melody of soprano voices, undistinguished yet in harmony, interplaying with the cool, rich bass of the shadow-clouds on the earth. The sky was the audience and the sun the conductor, coordinating the symphony of the voices of the day.
Against the harmony of the sky and the mountains and the air, the song of the city railed. The high-pitched shriek of industry and telecommunications, the steady roar of traffic and horns, the hum of the power lines, all in unison, sounding a disjointed disarray rising against the heavens. The city is an offense to the mountain, a blight on the landscape, a sore on the soundscape. The mountain objects in stony, thunderous silence.
The mountain was real, the mountain was solid. It formed a backdrop against the city and the surrounding countryside.