Blue

I struggle to find words that will distinguish the blue of the hills from the blue of the sky at seven in the morning on a Wednesday in January. Words fail me. My camera, likewise, fails to record the soft and luxurious curtain of sky brushing up against the dark hills, that theater stage, seconds before the street lights blink off. The electricity of this moment: waiting for the train; watching the sky; anticipating the dawn. The sense of awe I feel comes not from checking messages on my phone or from the natural gas plants churning away through the night, but from the unfolding of human desire which causes all perception, all devices, and all machinery to spring into existence to capture a beauty that cannot be possessed.