Trying to describe something I saw while driving to work.
The clouds stack up like marshmallows. They bulge and bubble as they push against the steel-blue sheet of rock. Like a shadow defying the morning, like a triangle of bare canvas scraped clean of paint, the mountain churns the clouds. On one side, marshmallows. On the other, shreds and strips, white wisps dyed pink by sunlight that dares touch only one side of the mountain. The light puddles in a crook of bare sky before draining upward, melting from warmth to cool blue. In the empty expanse, a brilliant puncture, a pinhole in the tarp of dawn. The moon cuts a startling smile above the mountain, mocking its might by displaying only a sliver of its own.
And far in the distance, the city, like houses of cards pretending to beauty.