Under midwestern clouds like great gray brains
Clouds like headless sheep
Then a blood red cloud line appeared along the horizon, and grey clouds resembling cement castles with turrets, rested upon it. Yellow clouds rolled above the castles, like immense butterflies unable to find a bush upon which to light.
In a short time all turned scarlet, then purple black, then mauve. At last dark shadows crept over the earth, and all colours merged into blue, through which the stars shone.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
The sun has the attenuated autumn quality of seeming to be behind several panes of glass.
—David Foster Wallace (h/t to M.M.)
(…) pilot-light blue
The clouds that Monday morning were piled up like laundry.
Almost indigo, shot with iridescence as if veins of a newly discovered precious mineral have been exposed
the sky looked like something flat and heavy shoved up against the kitchen window
From where Irene sat, she could see the open sky above the East River. There were hundreds of clouds in the sky, as though the south wind had broken the winter into pieces and were blowing it north …
The day had been bright but never warm with those flat-bottomed, fast-moving clouds that seem to make the land flatter and the wind colder.
—Michael Martone, “The Greek Letter in the Bed”