May Gray and June Gloom. This is a generally gray and gloomy time of year along San Diego’s coast, much to the dismay of out-of-town visitors. The warming waters give off heat that is trapped by cooler air above, and a thick layer of gloom forms.
I live inland enough that our late springs are usually bright and toasty. But in a short drive’s time, we can be transported to a more somber, unsaturated world. And upon returning inland, the colors almost seem intrusive.
This crossed my mind when choosing the theme for this issue. The way that clouds can have such profound influence on our perspectives, but are also so ephemeral and localized. They come and they go, or we move into or out of them.
And I am in a gloomy gray layer of mourning these days. My father died in early June three years ago. Each year since, this time brings a vast heaviness over me. Not the menacing, tumbling storm clouds of dysregulation, but a more pervasive and lingering shadow. It casts its melancholy over all that I do and feel.
It will pass.
And it will return.
As will other cloudscapes that visit my sky. The achingly beautiful sunsets with sculpted billows all radiant, the whimsical wisps drifting all alone, the freehand streaks brushed on gentle and languid days. They come and go.
I am so thrilled to share this issue on clouds with you! I am sure that we all can resonant with the concepts that clouds – that wondrous stage in the cycle of water – represent. I am so glad to have contributions from other spellers and friends in this issue!
Please enjoy this set of words and ideas and feelings, which we will release over the coming days. Wishing you many gorgeous cloudscapes, literal and figurative!
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