Another smoke-filled sky covers the sun, and my mind wanders somewhere above all the haze. The air is so thick and full of itself, carrying the weight of the world onto the next town. The sun’s persistent glow tries to break through, yet all it can do is burn shamefully red unto itself.
My body can’t handle these sallow days. The particles of destruction blaze a trail into my lungs, choking my blood into restriction, creating my own internal wildfire. These sullen skies will eventually clear and bring clarity back to my days, but for now all I can do is sit inside and stare out the window longing for the blues.
Something scurries across the toasted desert; a lizard knows no other pace than scurry. A baby jackrabbit heads for shade underneath a creosote bush to quietly eavesdrop upon two starlings chattering about. Makes me wonder if wildlife notices that something is amiss, do they feel the caustic change in the air, or do they carry on without much thought to the world’s affairs?
Much like a fire needs tinder to thrive, I have come to expect clear blue-sky mornings to bring me to life. Like the way the ocean fuels possibility, the comfort of a blanket of blue makes me feel like everything is clearly in order in the world.
But until time does its thing, all we can do is wait, hoping for a new day to rise above this veil of peach tinted grays. All we can do is follow the sun’s heed and radiate light against the shadow of dismay, all we can do is share in its misery of missing the blues.