Big Sky

Most days in our neighbourhood are cloudy. We get a lot of that grey blanket of cloud that seems to seal the lid of the world tight above us. So often those clouds do not bring rain, but neither do they admit the sun.

Some days are crystal clear, the dome of the firmament so high and light blue that it seems not even to be there. The sky then is an ethereal film above your head; the sun dominates with her bright rays, making the earth shine and glow.

Then, ever more rare, are the Big Sky days. These are the days I miss Colorado the most, for Colorado has these days all the time. A Big Sky is a bright blue sky scattered with a patchwork of giant clouds, fluffly cumulonimbus working their way with deliberate speed across the heavens. They are luminescent and white on top, shaded on the bottom where the sun cannot penetrate the tight droplets of moisture. They have texture and depth--oh, such great depth!--so that looking up is like looking down into a sea of air. The Big Sky is close, so close you might touch those floating titanics, if only you could reach a little higher. The wind that carries the mighty air ships caresses the ground and your hair, as if to say, Yes, yes, you can reach a little higher! Try it!

And you want to watch the clouds all day, to see where they are going, to read whose names are etched on the sides of the heavenly barges, to dream of leaving this earthly port to sail around the world far above it with angels and dreamers. Perhaps your name is on one of those ships; or perhaps it is the name of your friend, your lover, your long-lost relative.

And I sigh into the wind, feeling the warmth of the sun, then the cool of a cloud-shadow, then the warmth of the sun again. And I take Sara's hand, and we walk on across the high field, savouring the promise of spring under the gift of a Big Sky.

~emrys