"The sky is blue because air molecules intercept the short blue wave-lengths scattering them across the sky."

From this mountain crest, I sit on a cot, posted by chimney and shelves of books, savor coffee by the picture window as ridges dawn from a settling of pink, white and gray. The view is so high, I might by flying, thought perhaps the Blazer would, rounding sudden hairpin turns and guardless cliffs on yesterday's ascension. I've wakened today to warm visions of friends, one of whom lent me this house, buttressed wood and stone against the horizon. Swayed by a chill, lofty wind, October leaves remain green and lush. With glasses I locate sparse strands of yellow, magenta, sienna. Clouds in smoke-like traces race, thicken, nearly cover the sky. If I stood, walked round on the top deck to its railing, could I catch a cool ride on those wave-lengths? It feels like I might from here. Just a thin wall, molecules of flesh and skull with so much space in and between, keeps, separates us. Chlorophyll -- a leaf, a needle of pine helping to frame this climbing spiral -- wouldn't do. But we could be lucent, a carbon physic diluted to cycle odd and even in oxygen. We could be air. We could be breath.

boon: a prayer, blessing