A cloud does not know why it moves in just such a direction and such a speed... It feels an impulsion... this is the place to go now. But the sky knows the reasons and the patterns behind all clouds, and you will know, too, when you lift yourself high enough to see beyond the horizon. (Richard Bach)
Last night, after the afternoon rain that put an early end to the annual Colorado Irish Festival at the park, Duncan and I ventured out in the cool evening for our walk. Duncan was distracted by the smell of all the dropped treats, and I was distracted by him, keeping my eye on him to make sure he didn't get into anything he shouldn't. The air smelled, as it has for weeks, of Linden blossoms, and tasted luscious on the tongue with each breath I took. The grass, still damp, was cold on my open toes, but tickled as I passed through it. Duncan convinced me to tromp with him through the puddles and we were so focused on what was happening at our feet that neither of us noticed what was happening in the skies above until after I got home and sat down at my desk.
We stood in the window for a very long time, watching the sun do what it does best with the clouds, play and caress, tousle and agitate. I could hardly breath as I realized that I am fortunate to have such a view and that such things should never be taken for granted.
Bigger than mountains and cities, fierce and full of rapture, they sat there unseen by so many passing directly beneath them, as unappreciated as the air we breath. And yet we'd be lost and forsaken without them.
I am grateful for this life of mine, as difficult as it can be, and grateful for this good, red dog walking at my side. Duncan and these colors and this sky are enough to sustain me for all the days to come.
God writes the Gospel not in the Bible alone,
but also on trees, and in the flowers and clouds and stars. (Martin Luther)