The Power of a Morning Sky

Yesterday, I almost made the mistake of writing about the morning sky instead of going outside and experiencing it, firsthand.  Fortunately, the room lit up like a Creamsicle,  and it was all I could do not to run to the park in my pajamas.  This photo, taken by my friend Katherine Endacott, is proof that my decision was a good one.

I certainly am not immune to the immense sadness and violence of this world, the incomprehensible weight of Serious Things.  But neither can I turn a blind eye to its beauty, to a sky that is always--always--whispering "Look up.  Look up.  Look UP!"

Where else but in the steadiness of the stars, in the meandering strings of geese stretched across the skies, could I be so clearly reminded of larger things that care not a whit about our problems?

I look up and I am grounded again.

True, the violence still punctures.  The losses accumulate.  The divides grow seemingly wider.

But that sky . . . 

And in those quiet moments, when I give myself over to something that is not made of  bolt, barrel and bravado, I am steeled by the surprising strength of beauty and kindness, ready to face all that is broken, having bathed in the Creamsicle glow of things that are more eternal than violence.