SEVEN SKIES ALL AT ONCE

A lightly personified series of skies puts out its cloudy laundry to dry while two human neighbors bond over the same task.

Permeated with dense imagery and atmospheric art, Pulitzer Prize–winning poet Kooser’s tale establishes that the skies have “hung out their freshly washed clouds” so that they might “smell like air.” But soon the skies have “hurriedly wadded up [the] socks, T-shirts and underpants of cirrocumulus” into a “basket woven of sunbeams” to outrun the seventh sky, a “moth-eaten, dirty gray woolen blanket of stratus.” A thunderstorm begins, gloriously unfurling on full-bleed double-page spreads. Kooser’s picturesque poetry vividly shapes his living sky metaphors, whether they be billowing descriptions of “big muscly arms tattooed all over with all kinds of birds” or ominous portrayals of cumulonimbus clouds “squeezing the light out.” Under those same dynamic skies, a pair of brown-skinned children hang laundry atop a pair of adjacent brick buildings. Their burgeoning friendship, told entirely visually through tentative waves and the clothes-pinned notes they exchange, is as enchanting as the breathtaking post-storm rainbow connecting them. Myers’ skyscapes of brilliantly colored oils on wood are both spectacular and scientifically accurate. His clever use of reflections, the way he artfully plays with the book’s gutter, and the almost tactile paint striations create spreads that are, well, heavenly.

A lofty concept and radiant illustrations will leave readers on cloud nine.