Sweet sky yesterday

sunset 11 23 13

Sunset over Hampden yesterday – spectacular!

Photo by: @TeresaAsereta

Those who happened to look west yesterday at around 5 p.m. were rewarded with the sight of a magnificent pearly-pink and gold sunset. Wow.

Always happy to promote “sky awareness,” I did my part with a tweet about it. I thought I was too late, because it disappeared soon afterwards.

But one of The Brew’s followers, @TeresaAserta, saw it and came through with the lovely photo, which we have here.

“Mysterious double streaks in the cloud patterns, looking west from #Hampden,” she tweeted.

Thanks for noticing and sending this, Teresa!

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  • Teresa

    Thanks, Brew! I was actually compelled to snap a picture anyway and looked to the Brew to recall that phrase for clouds you had posted recently: Holly Mackerel! and then I saw your tweet.

    I loved the Boston Globe story, thanks for sharing that. In January a local artist named Alyssa Stokes decided her Fun-a-Day project would be to take a photo of the sky every day and share them in the exhibit, which I thought would be too easy and boring. But they were beautiful and each so different, it turned out to be one of the best parts of the show:

    I feel like I may already look up more than most people, but maybe I’ll start doing it a little more. As the Globe article said, things that sound so boring can really be rewarding once you start paying attention. More than you can share in a photo.

  • ushanellore


    No time, no space,
    no laws of science,
    no particles,
    no radiation, now that is really nothing–
    the man said–
    can you imagine that kind of nothing–
    going in and out of existence?

    In that nothing

    particles spun up, down,
    sideways and all around
    like tops pinged against each other
    and birthed more particles– jostling
    and nudging– bobbing
    and circling they simmered

    and sang the music, an undercurrent
    to all of creation, billions of particles
    over billions of years of spiraling
    made a soup of the void.

    kindled by the force of the encounters
    among the smallest denizens in the nothing–
    the confrontations exploded as heat and light,
    and gases extruding from that talk,
    fused and water came out of nothing–
    unfathomable but plausible-
    that nothing can be something–
    nothing can be planets, stars, galaxies,
    nothing can be dust–
    dust can be life–
    and life can be dust–

    when the sky envelops me–
    its vermillion splendor

    like lava flowing from a vent–
    I am unprepared
    for the offering–I adjust my eyes
    to absorb the illusion

    from the palette of the sun–

    its painterly penchant

    erupting as pyrotechnics
    takes away my breath–

    and I who will never touch the clouds
    or feel their woolly shapes
    or be inside them when they shake
    their thunderous applause

    to release their pent up torrents,

    I, who does not matter

    to the universe one way or another–
    an accident who must write my own fate–
    am excited to be with time, space,
    background radiation and busy particles–
    the conundrum of why the nothing
    became a something and I a something
    in that nothing– how I came to be–
    still unsolved for me–
    am thankful for the feast of colors

    given me intermittently

    from the cornucopia of goodies in the sky…

    Usha Nellore

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