“Even as winter comes, mornings are crisp, and the big, blue sky seems to hang newly washed over the sea of hills.”
“Along with rising and falling water, winter is the province of wind. When the sea-breath and mountain-roar bend the hemlocks of these hills, the birds hang on as best they can.”
“Because gray clouds hang heavy with misery, blue skies seem bluer.”
“How rarely do our emotions meet the object they seem to deserve? How hopelessly we signal; how dark the sky; how big the waves. We are all lost at sea, washed between hope and despair, hailing something that may never come to rescue us.”
“Hi! My little hutIs newly-thatched I see...Blue morning-glories”
“For lunch, we drove into the hills and parked in the dappled shade of a big sycamore, its powdery white bark like a woman's body against the uncanny blue sky.”