Today’s brilliant cobalt blue sky is filled with big, puffy clouds, dark on the bottom and rim-lit with yellow sunrise light. Tiny feather-like light green leaves are showing up on the bare branches, and blossoms of pink and white are filling my favorite tree. Birds are chirping out “Spring is in the air!” and I’m finally able to get back to my porch without a blanket or sweater. Soon bluebonnets will fill nearby farmers’ fields, seducing me and my easel.

The small sound of pellets of rain has turned into a roar, louder and louder as the rain hits the tin roof in my art studio, where I sit this morning.

Dark billowing clouds are dancing overhead and the muted orange sun is streaming rays out over the Atlantic ocean. Balmy air is met with a quiet breeze as palm fronds playfully move about from side to side. Cathedral bells ring out and echo off the old historic buildings. Unexpectedly, I hear distant music in the streets, the soundtrack of Cuba. I’m up earlier than normal this morning and instead of the usual porch in the backyard, I’m on the upper deck on top of a hotel in Havana.

Nestled in my art studio this morning, my bare feet wrapped under a blanket, which covers me keeping the chill off. The whir of a small space heater trying to play its part. Chilled raindrops slowly and methodically pinging on the metal roof above me.

I’m shivering — my flesh has goosebumps. Frost and shiny reflections of ice on my porch take me outside long enough to grab a couple of fallen trees for the fire to warm my skin.

This soft Sunday morning on the back porch sees a deep and thick fog covering intense backlight from the rising sun, creating a tunnel like those in a movie scene where they “walk into the light.” Color is absent; the yard is reduced to shades of gray. Distant gnarled and twisted oak branches are silhouetted and are lighter in the distance, darker and bigger as they come close. This morning would be a good painter’s lesson on perspective, atmosphere, and values (the scale of light to dark).