There's a simplicity to southern skies, a shining symmetry that we don't always appreciate until it's gone.
We walk under so many skies, heads down, missing the shimmering world above the sheds and the pine trees and the tumble of wires.
But occasionally we take the time to look up and there it is; iridescent pink strips lighting up the blue, the last vestiges of a warm winter's day.
I found my camera before it was too late. But already gray was drifting into the pink, like a dirty smudge on the lens. I moved the lens to the left and the right but the grey moved in; gun smoke seeping across peaceful vistas.
We should make more time for the pink; we should bask more in the iridescent before the gray marches in for good.