"And then a fifth sky went past,
wearing an apron piled high with
cumulus, which it probably had
taken down from some other
contrail hidden behind one of the
towers, perhaps strung between
two of them."
Light clouds fill the skies above as a young child watches. She and her mother are busy hanging clothes to dry. Across the way, a young boy waves a greeting as he and his father do the same thing. Those cirrus clouds she is watching are soon on the move as the wind picks up and sends them higher. Over a period of time, the clouds continue to change from one type to the next in metaphors that describe them as pieces of laundry; from freshly washed clouds to dry to a moth-eaten, dirty gray woolen blanket of stratus.
Matt Myers matches the strong imagery of Ted Kooser's words with artwork that fills each spread with splendid observances of a sky in constant motion. His clouds are easy to identify in the skies above: cirrus, cirrocumulus, altocumulus, cumulus, stratocumulus and more. The two young children are unable to have a conversation because of the distance between their buildings, and the noise of the approaching storm.
As the wind blows and the storm rattles everything it touches, the girl sends a note across by clothesline to the boy on the other side. The rainstorm increases in intensity as the boy writes back. A final spread shows readers their messages. A perfect ending!
"And after it stopped, the skies left behind
a green laundry basket with a handle that
looked like a rainbow."
Remove the dust cover to see the space that separates one family from the other, as they do their laundry on a cloudy, windy day.
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