WHERE THE MOUNTAINS END

She was tired of green.  Reaching up, she grabbed handful after handful of the

rounded masses of cumulus clouds that piled like whipped cream in the afternoon

sky.  Carefully...and most deliberately...she set about adding swirls of the palest

blue to her harvest, then digging both arms in quite up to her elbows, she mixed

and stirred and squished and squeezed till she was satisfied.  Smiling to herself,

she spread the blue over the ranges of mountains, pressing it down into all the

hollows, using her thumbs to smooth it over the ridges.  "There!" she said, stepping

back to study her handiwork.  "Perfect! Absolutely perfect!"  She was right.

Now no one could tell where the mountains ended and the clouds began.

Jo Anzalone

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