| Skygaze I am an inside sort of person-- not my father, who, born a hundred years ago would surely have built a cabin in the wilderness with his own hands -- felled the trees, stretched animal-skin over timber-frame for shelter. I would come much later, once the drafts have been sufficiently caulked and the fire built. I would bring books for the bookshelf. Yet there is a peculiar salve in a clear sky-- my sheltered spirit begins to grow cabin-feverish, feel contained, and a small dose of sky-gazing-- a nap on the lawn, a barefoot game of ultimate, stretches this ungainly heart within me toward the upward un-limits of pale blue. I grew up mostly under cloud-cover, but must have some animal memory of the Texas sky of my father's childhood. It is a peculiar prayer, this sky-gazing, and I wonder about the first commandment. But it is a prayer often and quickly answered, bringing healing I didn't know I needed. My thanks and praise ascend through the pale blue land of my soaring and off into the heavens. For what I so love to receive let me be truly thankful. |