In Writing

It is an impossibly, heartbreakingly, stunningly gorgeous day. I am called to words as the devoted are called to song. In worship. In awe. Renewed, and made whole again by a thick blue sky, a crisp, bright air, and everywhere birdsong.

There are days when humanity looms ugly and gray, the evil deeds, the dark intentions. Not all are thus, but too much of late swallows the sun.

And then there are days like this that fill me coolly, as a pitcher does a glass, and remind me that the earth is vast, and dark days fleeting, that we are but wisps in a wind.

For some reason, when I see a sky as clear and blue as this one, I always think of pie filling. What would it be like to be able to make a pie out of sky, and gobble it up so that I’m made of sky, with frothy clouds as topping? I want to take in the whole sky and be lifted, expanded, and float above the green canopy, smiling.

Go outside on the beautiful days, my loves. It’s a wonder.

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