Today I sensed Forever. He is not, as feared, a jump into a black and endless pit; but rather he is reaching, reaching reaching, getting past your own fingertips, into blue steel grey.

I haven't known a place to have such a clear demarcation between cloudy and not cloudy; here, today, it is monster and not monster, the difference.


A little after crossing from Louisiana into Texas, I noticed it was there--the sky again a tangible entity above me. You know in elementary school PE, the day you play with a parachute? You get a chance to run underneath the billowing cloth while your classmates hold it up. And then above you something is breathing and the space is aglow with the red, turquoise light filtering through. You want that moment t
o last forever, before the fabric deflates around you, slowly and then faster and closer.
Driving into Texas, I didn't notice the parachute surging up, but suddenly I am under its blue blue blue. I cannot shake the sensation that it will collapse around me.

Today, the blue made way for grey. It is the shade of grey you feel when you hold thumb to thumb, finger to finger, pushing them together up and down. And it's as if you're rubbing your fingers against a sheet of metal when you do it long enough. It is Forever.