What filter did you use on that?

At first, it was yellow.

The other night, I was compelled to take my camera and capture the apocalyptic sky that had formed outside my window. Those of you with limited imaginations, and who wish to be like virtually everyone else on Facebook, probably think I used one of those awful Instagram filters to create the yellow hue, but, as a matter of fact, that is how the sky appeared that evening. Rather than attempting a cheap form of artistic pretension and trying to make the photo I took five minutes ago look like it comes from another decade, I capture the colours as they appear to me. You could claim that you're rejecting the swindling illusion known as realism — fully aware that no matter how many millions of pixels your picture is composed of, it will never truly represent reality - but I suspect you are just trying to imbue a relatively boring occasion with a more interesting hue. 

Then, it was pink.

Within a few short minutes, the fantastical sky's complexion turned pink, gifting onlookers with another awe-inspiring sight. I took some more fumbled shots, knowing well the inadequacy of my technology to capture such beauty. Perhaps it was the ineffable feelings of beholding something so beautiful yet so transient, or perhaps it was the inspiring visit to Keats's grave in Rome this year, but I was compelled to recite the Romantic verse of my late uncle Gordon. The quiet epic so perfectly matched the perfectionist lines of one of his lesser known poems. When he first recited it in 1981, at a swingers party for some literary elites, he introduced it with only a few short lines: "Modestly, I offer these lines. Look into the sky fellow travellers of the soul. Savour its eerie majesty, and tell me my lines are too emotional, that I'm in too deep."

Recurrentibus Caelum (from Mystic Tide, 1989)

Oh, how lovely you are, sky
As I observe you up there, high
I gaze upon you with one eye
And, also, with the other eye

Though I fear the end is nigh
And all humanity may die
and in the devastation fry
somehow I know that it's a lie

For beauty only makes us sigh
And never wants to see us cry
And comforts like a lullaby
And never worthless presents buy(s)

And never punches in the eye
And never leaves without "goodbye"
In rainy weather, keeps us dry
And always waves when it drives by

Whenever I will talk to my
friends, to whom I cannot lie
I'll tell them all about the sky
And colours I cannot deny

Beauty is what we must try
to catch a glimpse before we die
precious moments we must spy
even if it's on the sly

Most things end up in loss or tie
but as our tragic life goes by
keep on your face a smile so wry
brought on by sights of wondrous sky

And I wish up to you fly
On your embrace I can rely
Your clouds give me a place to lie
A place where nothing goes awry

 "Cheap thrills can rival beauty, aye"
Is nothing but a mindless lie
There's no comparison, says I
to precious things that none can buy

Visiting Keats's grave in May this year.