In the sky

Have you ever just taken a few minutes to watch the clouds drift across the sky? Some people see shapes... dragons, animals, horses cars... what they're looking for, I think. But I don't see anything. My imagination doesn't work like that. Instead, the sky fills me up until there's nothing of me left. No thoughts, no worries, no me. Just the clouds and winds and sun.

Starry nights do that to me, too. I can look into the darkness punctuated with pinpricks of lights, and the vastness inside me expands. It's a weird feeling ‒ or it is after I've stopped experiencing it ‒ but when I'm in the moment, it doesn't feel weird. It feels... expectant. Like I'm waiting for something to raise its head and look at me. You'd think that would be frightening, but it's not. It's anticipation. A strange anticipation.

I've mentioned this to other people before, but I've never met anyone who felt the same way. I'm sure someone does in this world with millions of people. Maybe in China or maybe just someone I don't know. Maybe in the next house. I'd like to meet them, though. I'd like to find out how they feel. And talk with them about that vast creature out there. Ask them when we look at the sky, what are we expecting? What's coming for us out of that blackness between the stars?

And why aren't we afraid? That might be the most important question of all.