I spent 3 years in Chicago. I well remember how miserable that first few months happened to be. I had plenty of cause to gripe, but truth be told that didn’t quite explain my mood. I couldn’t quite get a handle on what had me so down, but I learned a thing about the matter when I stepped off the plane in Corpus Christi, Texas, and suddenly felt better. I remember just standing there on the tarmac, trying to figure out what was different.
Then I saw it. Only it wasn’t anything specific, but I saw it just the same.
For the first time in months, I could see for miles. In Chicago my view of the skies had been blocked by sky-scrappers, and dense cloud-cover had blocked what little was left of the skies. I hadn’t seen much of the sun in close to a month, but there it was, right where I had grown accustomed to seeing it, along with all that space. And that alone seemed quite sufficient to lift a load off my back.
It was a lesson well learned, though it certainly surprised to me at the time. Place mattered to me, and open skies seemed to be a big part of what gave a place it’s worth in my estimation.
I had recently forgotten how much I miss the Southwestern skies. The clouds always seem so much further up in the sky than they do in Alaska. Now that I am down here again, I remember just how beautiful the sunsets can be in these parts. Whether the day went well or worse, they can certainly put a warm finish on it.
(Simon says “Click to embiggen!”)
Of course now that I am down here I also miss the arctic skies. The clouds always seem so near the ground, it feels like you could just reach out and touch them. Time and again, I have taken pictures of something else, only to find the Alaskan sky has stolen the show. I will see these skies again soon.
I can’t wait.