GLEANERS "We interrupt your regularly scheduled day to report the mackerel sky. . ." Ruhdwulf at Live Poets, 4/26/05

"We interrupt your regularly scheduled day to report the mackerel sky--"

I can still see it--a celestial traffic jam of cumulus clouds in shades of peach, violet, and gunmetal gray. My friend, driving me home, turned at the corner to let me off, had no time for interruptions, couldn't stop for the magic or the glory. I got out and watched for a few precious minutes as the colors faded and blurred into the deep blue of night.

One summer day, while reading, I noticed a flicker of movement on the ground beneath the butterfly bush in my back yard. The featherless bluejay, covered with ants, became a blessed interruption for the next three months.

A regularly scheduled workday was almost cancelled due to an overnight ice storm, but since the ground had been warm the streets were safe and dad drove me to work. As we wended our way through the park the sun burst out turning every twig and tree limb to blazing crystal. His phone call twenty minutes later told me the same sun had melted every drop and the extraordinary was once again ordinary.

I learned long ago to savor interruptions caused by nature, the miraculous and serendipitous moments that can be so fleeting and yet last for a lifetime.

I'm still working on telephones.