Sky

Every sunday afternoon, as I attend Mass in the local church, I usually like to time my arrival to the very last minute. This would make sure that all the seats would be taken and we would have to listen to the sermon from outside of the church. Not that I never liked the sermons because some of them really have something interesting to say if you can believe that. It was because I liked looking at the horizon. When attending mass is not enough to help calm my mind, looking at that horizon usually does the job. One day my sister asked me what I was looking at, and I said, "Nothing."

Thinking on this, I wondered why I said it was nothing when the mere sight of it calms me down like no one could. The sky was not simply an explosion of colors but an arrangement of colors, random yet it simply feels right the way it is in its randomness. Looking at it hard enough, you can see the clouds moving ever so slowly and even feel the earth doing its slow rotation. The science behind it seems to not matter at all even though lessons from it was a vague echo from last week's lessons. But all lessons and the other clutter inside me is silenced. All there was to me was the sky and the escape it provides me even if only for a while. But why then did I say it was nothing.

I miss that piece of sky but mustering the strength to go back escapes me. It may not even be there anymore. But maybe next time, someone will ask me again and be able to say, "I'm looking at the sky."