As I drove home on a Friday evening, the full moon ahead of me glowed through a band of white clouds. They extended overhead as far as I could see, with the moon poised right in the middle of the bright pathway. I hoped that a talented nighttime photographer was on the job somewhere with a similar view.

When I reached my stopping point and relocated the moon among the treetops, the cloud pathway was no longer part of the picture, and I decided on another sky-related project. Usually I like to start the weekend with my head in the clouds, but I spent the rest of that evening with my hands in the clouds.

A few moons had already come and gone since a relative presented the idea. He'd been redecorating little by little, and one letter reported, "I finally found curtains I liked that went with a comforter I liked." But with an odd combination of window sizes in the bedroom, some of the curtain material needed to be cut and hemmed to fit. Since I have a sewing machine and had done similar projects once upon a time, he asked if I'd be interested. He said there was no hurry.

About a month later, he brought the fabric pieces and measurements to a halfway point and suggested how the material could be divided. After I picked it up, he reminded me, "I don't much notice how things look anyway."

It sounded like a no-lose project.

I had wondered what color and fabric design would appeal to him. Appropriately enough for someone who wouldn't notice the appearance, there wasn't a lot to see. The material was thin, with what looked like rows of indistinct white clouds — the cumulus type — in a light blue background. To me, it suggested floating off into dreams, counting clouds instead of sheep.

The box of cloud-filled material stood neglected in a corner of my living room for a while. When I finally took a closer look, on the night of the full moon, I was happy to find that one panel was just about the right size as it was.

Another large piece appeared to be cut at an angle. Besides that, I wasn't sure which end was up. A crooked sky would not be the best, and who knows what might happen if the clouds were upside-down. The rain might even fall out. I chose an end to be the top and pulled threads to make relatively straight lines for cutting. The sky frayed a lot.

Later I had second thoughts about which was the front and which was the back and wondered how a person could tell with clouds.

I also observed that in brighter light the material shimmered and rippled as if the clouds were reflected in water.

As I measured and cut and stuck pins into the clouds, I discovered that the sky was longer on one side than the other. I had to revise my plans. If I had remembered the directions suggested to me, the second arrangement was the plan to follow anyway. At least we came to the same conclusions.

I suppose I'll have clouds on my hands for a little while yet before they're all sewn up. Then maybe I'll wash them and hang them out in the sun to dry. After that I can pack up the pieces of sky — more than there were at first — so they can make themselves at home at windows just their size.

If the full moon can find them there, it can shine through the clouds again any time it passes by.