There are days that seem so very bleak empty.
Like the snow towards the end of January, where the soft, clean, white is gone, leaving behind a sharp grey skeleton of ice and grime. Walking around is no walk in the park. At least, not a park I'd like to spend my time in. More like a park where the people are all communicating their want for closeness, but the Distance between them is filled with enough of a lonely, dry, biting wind to keep them from being content. So maybe there are days like that. Days where you're too awake to close your eyes and feel content, but too tired to open them to optimism. There's a flip side though. Better days piling up to better weeks, which meld into better months, that will spill into a glass-half-full kind of a year.
That's my type of good time.
As a child, I always wondered if the man in the moon ever felt sad at not getting to see the sun. After reflecting on the matter, I remembered that the moon isn't the only light in the night sky. Now I think that perhaps he feels content with a trillion stars for company. Because while we only see a tiny glimmer, if we were to get a closer look we'd know that every drop of light was secretly brilliant. We're just too far away to know exactly what it is we're looking at. Realizing this made me think that Maybe the sun gets lonely, not having stars around to keep her company. But then I remembered that the stars are incredibly constant. The sun is just too busy being as bright as it can for them to be visible.
So maybe it's all a lesson in humility.
If we're looking for one, I mean.
I guess it's all a matter of perspective.
From mine, I'm certainly glad you're in my sight lines. Because I am starting to feel that if you weren't, I'd be an awful lot like a cloud covered night in late January.
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