From the hour three photo prompt:

The infrared of the painter’s brush
may seem prescient
but it merely reveals what we cannot see

the fuchsia of summer grasses
the crimson leaves of lonely trees

clouds lurking in the distance
waiting to rain

The deluge will be our muse
for a generation to come

songs sung under aquamarine skies
as we tend to our bloodied knees

8:32, 25 June 2022