One thing I’ve had joyous (and regular) cause to note here in Springfield is the sky. A glorious, fascinating sky, morning and evening. A sky that’s enough to make one want to greet the dawn, and screech out of work in time to wish the sun good-bye for the evening.

Deep and glorious gold. The blue of slate and cornflowers. Fiery purple. Maxfield Parrish pinks. Even scudding greys and streaks of virga. I’ve spent much time transfixed on the sky, day and cloudless night. And I’ve wondered why it continues to hold such unshakeable fascination for me.

Night sky: Easy. It’s that peek into the vastness; that amazing realization of all that is unknown. I love the sense of tiny-ness and the sense of being an insignificant speck in the grander “now.” But the day? Why?

Color, certainly. Texture, yes. But more, I think, it is the light and freedom. The space to breathe. And to think. Another sort of possibility altogether. I may love my Hubble Telescope photos of the cradles of creation in far off nebulae…but photos of the daytime sky leave me wanting. Like photos of food: Only first-hand experience is truly satisfying. It’s why I take several trips to the window each workday from the cocoon of my “veal pen” cubicle: so my brain can breathe.