Coming home from a motorcycle ride on HWY 150 out in the country, I passed by a wreck and fire trucks, the hood of the crashed car bent back like a tuna can.
I stopped by the side of the road and thought to myself, ‘I take that intersection almost every day.’
Turning onto my street just past the crash, I noticed a pink and white umbrella staked in a lawn right by the curb, and tilted to the side, just so.
I was puzzled by it. Intrigued. But I’ve been seeing more and more things like this, lately.
When I got home, I asked my wife if she’d like to join me on a neighborhood walk.
I didn’t know that it would turn into a sky-hike.
I’ve never thought of it like that before, but that’s exactly what it was. Following colors flaring in the sky from a setting sun.
I felt like I was inside of a lava lamp, floating, agaze.
The sunset also reminded me of the colored sand art we did in elementary school, mixing colors in jars, following all of the swirls with our eyes, all of the children’s faces just inches away from the glass.