A Sky That Cracks

Written after an early morning drive before the sun to Cincinnati:

“There was a crack in the sky this morning.

Just a tiny, slim figure of a paler shade of blue, maybe grey. Still surrounded by the darkest navy. The crack swelled, or the navy shriveled, either way, the light kept on.

The farther down the road I got, the smaller I felt, everything around me swelled. It seemed as if there was a dance happening in the sky, but not the one everyone talks about with the sunset paintings and stars beginning to reveal themselves. No, this dance is different. A quiet one; maybe one you watch of two people on a dark seed stage, or one that you watch and feel as if you’re the one dancing.

The dance took a turn. The light shrunk, or was covered up, I’m not sure. The dark seemed to win this one. The more I drove to the horizon, the more it all moved. They changed possession almost, like in a football game.

There was another crack, and then another crack, and then it was all cracks. Or maybe they weren’t cracks, maybe they were layers. Each cloud a new one. All across the sky, not just in front, but behind and above. Now the dark didn’t seem dark. It showed that it wasn’t one monstrosity of a blob, more a unity.

The darkness was broken up by the layers, the cracks of light that came through. Even when the shades seem to fade into what seemed like one, they would show their difference with the power of the light. We just needed the reminder “Hey, I’m still here.”