I sat looking up to the sky.
It was full of thunderheads and piercing grey, I didn’t think I’d see sunlight coming through until the next day-
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But to my surprise later that day, the sky returned to its familiar shade of blue. A few white, wispy, clouds hung like smoke flowing from a pipe from some hidden artist- I presumed it to be the sun. But I couldn’t see the sun too distinctly, it was quickly making its way down below the treeline’s horizon.
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I turned back from the sky to look at the ground, and it was just as I left it yesterday. Moments later I returned my attention to the above, and, to my shock it wasn’t as I left it moments ago. Its light blue had quickly exploded into vibrant hues of pinks and golden oranges.
It was as if this deranged artist suddenly had a tantrum of inspiration and in his fit spilt all of his watercolors over the canvas. I went inside, and my curtains were drawn back a bit so I could take in this scene. As I looked away for some moments to a conversation, I looked back to a sky that again, had changed suddenly. This time its majestic chaos had settled down to a deep blue morphing into black. I could see stars one by one appearing, knowing they were always there, but now the light from the sky was dimming, and their light was winning.
But for how quickly the sky changed, nothing in my world had. The ground did not shake, nor did the trees quake, everything was the same, except for the sky itself. Earth’s sky. It was for this reason I wanted to take the entire sky and put it in a locket of mine. In one’s eyes it was blossoming from dusk in vibrant brilliance to the blue. In another’s it was a violent place, where electricity and darkness engulfed the horizon, and yet, in another’s, it was emptiness giving way for some small openings of light that managed to find their way across the universe some time ago. And yet all these eyes saw the same sky. This same sky was with humanity from the very beginning, and flows with our time until the very end. And in each of these stages, it takes on new faces, and yet, its composition, its character, remains unchanging. It’s always predicted to be different.
It was full of thunderheads and piercing grey, I didn’t think I’d see sunlight coming through until the next day-
.jpg)
But to my surprise later that day, the sky returned to its familiar shade of blue. A few white, wispy, clouds hung like smoke flowing from a pipe from some hidden artist- I presumed it to be the sun. But I couldn’t see the sun too distinctly, it was quickly making its way down below the treeline’s horizon.
.jpg)
I turned back from the sky to look at the ground, and it was just as I left it yesterday. Moments later I returned my attention to the above, and, to my shock it wasn’t as I left it moments ago. Its light blue had quickly exploded into vibrant hues of pinks and golden oranges.
It was as if this deranged artist suddenly had a tantrum of inspiration and in his fit spilt all of his watercolors over the canvas. I went inside, and my curtains were drawn back a bit so I could take in this scene. As I looked away for some moments to a conversation, I looked back to a sky that again, had changed suddenly. This time its majestic chaos had settled down to a deep blue morphing into black. I could see stars one by one appearing, knowing they were always there, but now the light from the sky was dimming, and their light was winning.
But for how quickly the sky changed, nothing in my world had. The ground did not shake, nor did the trees quake, everything was the same, except for the sky itself. Earth’s sky. It was for this reason I wanted to take the entire sky and put it in a locket of mine. In one’s eyes it was blossoming from dusk in vibrant brilliance to the blue. In another’s it was a violent place, where electricity and darkness engulfed the horizon, and yet, in another’s, it was emptiness giving way for some small openings of light that managed to find their way across the universe some time ago. And yet all these eyes saw the same sky. This same sky was with humanity from the very beginning, and flows with our time until the very end. And in each of these stages, it takes on new faces, and yet, its composition, its character, remains unchanging. It’s always predicted to be different.
