How often does it happen to us? The need to hear the sky speak blue. (Carolyn Riker) How often. Quite often I say, and we take a walk, sometimes in words as these, and feel out of our personal blues.
And yet not as weird as the following words.
“It was one of the moments you stay in, to hell with all the troubles of before and after. The sky is blue and the dead are coming back. Later in the afternoon, with sad resignation, the county fair bares its breasts.”
― Denis Johnson, Jesus’ Son
I walk under a blue sky, in search of something new, and I found my old self, as if… the world was my reflection — the blue sky me.
What else is there, but the blue sky. What else? Sometimes I ask.
And I look up, at the sky, to find an answer.
