Liquid Luminosity

Driving home tonight I was under a spell. I could barely keep my eyes on the road. An early summer thunderstorm and the setting sun painted the sky with a marvel of nature and physics, a stunning rainbow lit the stormy sky my entire drive home. At first I only saw a part of the rainbow, an arching swath of color and light spilling on the ground from the dark clouds. The colors glowed so clearly, like liquid light pouring from the sky. I could see the vivid bands of color spilling onto the ground and buildings behind it.

The other edge of the rainbow looked like a pastel drawing on dark grey paper, smeared smoothly with a celestial finger to blend the colors and light into a band of soft beauty. After a few moments the light came together and I could see the semi-circle from end to end. I thought of my great-uncle who told me a story of how he had stood on the side of one mountain and saw a three-quarter rainbow arching into the sky and dipping into the valley below him. I always wondered if there were a perfect spot to see a circular rainbow, from end to not end banded in bright liquid luminosity.

And above the main rainbow, the second rainbow shimmered at the edge of my sight, like an object in the darkness that you can't see straight on, but have to watch through your side vision. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed to me instead of being roygbiv it was vibgyor, a dim and fragile reflection of the main rainbow. Everytime I tried to look straight at it, the second one became blurry and smeary until I blinked and looked away.

The entire three-quarters of an hour I spent driving home became a study of the rainbow set as it seemed so close then moved back and back to finally become a faded rememberance of the shining glory it was, then to finally fade as the light left the sky and the rain cleared.