islands in the sky

After all these years, after all the thousands of photos I've taken of sunsets, there's always something new. These clouds, like islands in the sky.

The moon rising, in and out of pink clouds, over The Sacred Mountain.

Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them pressed me
suddenly against his heart: I would be consumed
in that overwhelming existence. For beauty is nothing
but the beginning of terror, which we still are just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains
to annihilate us. Every angel is terrifying.
          Rainer Maria Rilke  (trans. Stephen Mitchell)