As my son and I sat at the stoplight, he pointed up through the windscreen to the clouds above us and said, “Look, it’s like a painting—you can even see the brush strokes!” Which was a good description, because these were not the common heavy grey or even puffy white variety of clouds, they were streaked and lined and spotted as if an artist had come along and dripped and wiped the last remnants of white from his paintbrush against a deep blue drop-cloth.
Continue reading Remixing Wonders