April’s Sunset

There she is, at it again,
showing off, painting with clouds,
as the light changes within seconds, within seconds,
my head twists to gather all 180° in, I can’t
look away from Aprils’ masterpiece of reflected light, 
wind and suspended condensation,
against the receding horizontal perspective
of continually shadow upon shadow of Douglas fir greens.

yet, within moments the suns rosy reflection pales
the distinctive greens blur to lesser shades, as if
someone dragged a pallet knife
across the layers, obscuring the depths,

the curtain is drawn
the moment is over
the show closes down
A chill sets in
the illusion, the props, and the stage has moved West
somewhere over islands in oceans now