Witness

 Life is too good to feel bad. Whenever those bad feelings come up, you say to them, like my Spanish grandmother is her broken accent, “Get-the-hell out of here!”

Today I watched the sunrise in pink and peach and flesh colors (I got up at 5:30: amazing). One clump of cloud sported neon pink, the rest were grey. My boy cats joined me (misery does not love company). I heard a meow above my head: Grey was on the roof! “How did you get up there? And can you get down?” Oh yes, he’s fine. The sunset continued to morph into orange, encompassed by a powder blue sky. Streaks of cloud brushed by a haphazard painter. And now the clouds are morphing white. A lot of people are out this morning: runners, bikers, dog walkers, like my neighbor Rodney with his beagle, Sammy. Did they see the sky? Are they aware of progression? Do they see the birds (swallows?) transcendent in flight? Was it an act just for my benefit? It has everything and nothing to do with me. We are made of stardust, after all. I’d like to believe, or “I want to believe,” as Mulder would say. The sky is above and around us with all its beauty. Take it in.

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