Sky and crows

For me it has been a day of not much. That privilege. The privilege of quiet, boring times. Easier on the soul than the crisis dealt by hurricanes. 

A  piece of a poem by one of my favorite poets, then:

Sky
I should have begun with this: the sky.
A window minus sill, frame, and panes. 
An aperture, nothing more,
but wide open.
*     *     *
Grainy, gritty, liquid,
inflamed, or volatile
patches of sky, specks of sky,
gusts and heaps of sky.
*     *     *
--Wislawa Szymborska.