Today there were no clouds, no buttersmears, no marble, just endless depth and breadth of blue. To die now would be to bypass the cold press of the grave, purgatory and St Peter’s lists and enter directly through the gates of heaven, and there to lonely wait upon the end of time and judgement, to be joined by those whose deeds warrant the passage.
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Ali Abbas 
Ali, the melancholy of your writing (not to mention the photo) is matched only by the matter-of-fact beauty of the words. I especially like the diction of buttersmears (quite unexpected!) and “cold press.” Also can’t help but sing the Floyd tune with this one; don’t know if that was intended or not.
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Thank you, and yes the reference was intended. I do worry about doing that, is it a valid tapping of shared culture or just laziness?
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