MY WALK YESTERDAY

Soon after I began walking, strolling really, it struck me that the narrative for the walk was the sky above me. To the north and south, the clouds were like cotton balls, whereas the clouds above me resembled roughly separated wads from a roll of cotton. My clouds, mostly gray, had a dull, soft silver lining, which became very intense where the sun hid behind it.

On the power line which traversed the land sat a bird so tiny as to be mistaken for an insect. I am hypersensitive to the merest hint of lightning. I heard rumbling, but saw no lightning, and I took courage from the bird’s presence to keep on walking. Every now and then, the sun would shine through but quickly hide again.

I identified deeply with the sky directly above me. The clouds to the north and south were light (in both senses). They were pleasant enough, but they were not my clouds. My clouds were generous, grand and clean, not without a sense of mischief or danger. When the bird flew away, I immediately ended my walk, as if given a sign that it was no longer safe to continue.