Brushstrokes on the Sky

Driving around my county today, the skies were absolutely breathtaking.  I was having my own private showing of the grandeur of the heavens with every twist and turn of the North Carolina roads.  While a few sprinkles came my way, most were far off and I gazed at the wash of rainfall over the cloudy visage.  Every time I see distant rain I remember the first time I ever noticed the sight.  It was in one of my Mother's paintings.  The land of enchantment's wide open space met with a gorgeous red mesa, classic Southwest beauty.  Near the tabletop of earth, the grey brooding thunderclouds drifted into sweeping downward lines of the paintbrush.

I asked Mom what was happening in that change of shadow and mist; she answered with the simplicity of the little word, rain.  Even today, the sight always reminds me of a painting where I learned to recognize this particular stroke of God.