Well, I'm a day late for Sky Friday, but this early morning dappled ceiling stopped me in my tracks for a look. The dunes were wet, cold, windy and unfriendly, but this sky was breathtaking. Came across this piece on one of my poetry sites awhile ago. It fits the feeling here.
By Peter Munro
Denting the edge of a sandflat,
footprints pool with water cold as blood
Light ripples the sapphire bay.
Through a muffle of haze
a bouy tells its shoal
like a soul lost in its shell of skin.
That distant tolling frays
on the dune-grass that slices sand
above the highest tidal wrack.
A northerly ticks grains against green blades,
braids sunlight, salt, and the cry of a single gull.
At the whiskery touch of wind
he turns and sees his footprints
lead to him.