Once . . .
You see . . .
The sky is blue.
The sky is blue and the grass is green and the dandelions are yellow and so is the sun. The trees are brown topped with clouds of green and the actual clouds are white. A bird is a flattened M against the sky.
The sky is blue.
Then . . .
You see . . .
The sky is moody.
The sky is green with menace. The sky is complacent cornflower-hued. The sky is amethyst-bruised with the ache of holding in and holding back. The sky is lit with arcs of circus magic. The sky dawns. The sky fades. The sky pulls a velvet pinpricked cape of darkness over itself. The sky lowers itself in petulant need and slips humid wanting tendrils between lips and within. The sky dances elusive far above obscuring clouds of gray and white and purple. The sky shimmers. The sky pulsates. The sky opens. The sky conceals. The sky roils and twists and gusts and scatters and collects and frames and offers and supports and then suddenly releases what it appeared to promise to hold.
The sky is moody.
Then . . .
You see . . .
The sky is magic.
The sky is stained glass hung high, lightning-struck sand turned to liquid, poured and hardened and carved into a million intricately laid jigsaw pieces. Life is spent fitting jeweled bits of reflection and perspective and trust and intimacy within the leaded branches of the trees that hold the sky aloft. The sky is a window that controls and filters the light from beyond; the life lived beneath this sky is illuminated by the choices made below.
You gaze up at the sky you have made for yourself and your family. The sheltering myriad sky beneath which you and the ones you love live a life lit by the colors of what has gone before . . . the choices you have made. You see yourself in the assemblage, and you are pleased with what you see. You are content with what you have made. You are warmed by the light that shines through your choices . . . you see the path this light shines to the future.
The sky is magic.
Then . . .
You see . . .
A rock thrown up from beside you.
And the sky . . .
Falls.
