Skyward

I used to laugh at a commercial that featured an old kite-flying man, musing about sitting outside and just, "looking up at the sky". Recently, however, I have found myself doing that very thing. Often.

I write this now, outside. Pen gliding over paper in the growing dusk. The clouds have lost their peach-colored rouge -- the blue behind them, deepening.

The soundtrack is all crickets and cicadas...and racing motorcycles bratting down the Parkway.

The breeze is cool...and subtle. Whispering down the night.

But, up there, the sky still holds a rich shimmer of light.

And I keep looking at it.