Today's prompt: Imagine you are walking in a meadow. The spring air is sharp. What it the sky like?

The sky changes rapidly because the wind is wicked out of the south, pushing along puffy, grey-bottomed clouds who seem to be in an important hurry. If they could stick around and settle in, they might have time to drop rain.

The sun blinks between them like a strobe because the air is dry and crystal clear. Only when an upper deck of stratus clouds meanders across does the day become overcast, as though the scudding clouds might actually do something.

Ocassionally a brilliant white cumulus skips by, standing out among the gray clouds, and looking almost like the top of a Bradford pear having been clipped off by the wind and forced to ride the current north.

The sun is beginning to settle in the west and soon the wind dance will begin to die out. It promises to be a spectacular sunset. Even now when the sun wedges itself between cloud layers it turns them lemon and butter yellow. As it sets, the colors will become more numerous, catching the bottoms of the racing clouds and providing the shimmering moving layer of color, while the upper clouds will turn into smudges of purple and gray until they are warmed into salmon and mauve, with slashes of crimson and yellow thrown in for effect. There will be a crescendo of color before it all begins to fade into that small window of nothingness that settles before the serenade of stars, barely visible in cleared spots of the sky, and the haloed moon plays peekaboo, with Venus dangling brilliantly nearby.