The sky was biggest at Rock Meadow, the nearby horse farms where I sometimes walked. Though it was just 10 minutes from our house whole months could go by without me going there. On the right of the small road was a long tract of meadows and equestrian farms and on the left, full-on mansions with massive parcels, long driveways and lots of space between each house. Above it all a big bowl of sky.

Here the early morning clouds would be stretched end to end, a dramatic look like some Northern Lights scene with streaks of distended light. With all the caffeine in me it was hard to just stop and look up but always worth it. In the summer I could never stay up until dark and in the mornings it was always a race to beat the light from the coming sun. Now I had the dark and sky all to myself.

There was something hopeful about the dawn that always hit me on a soul level, how slow and unassuming it was. Daily renewal, hope. I felt really connected to where we lived and that brought me peace at a time everything else seemed so chaotic. Low-lying fog on the meadows, a bog-like area where the horse trails start. How the sky looked ribbed. Feeling my body regulate and trying to keep warm. Cold is the absence of heat and has nothing to offer but removal. The same logic as dictators, they just take everything away.

It wasn’t kind of me but when our overly-enthusiastic-about-Halloween neighbors had all their blow-up displays destroyed by the recent wind storm I took some delight in that. The ghouls and zombies had been lined up at the end of the driveway like a curtain call and now looked mowed down by an executioner’s squad. It wasn’t kind to be like that but still felt good. They were eroding what was special about Halloween by keeping their shit up all year round; by keeping our displays within more focused windows I aimed to make Halloween great again.

We debated putting game cams up in the back to get a better look at all the critters coming through our yard but it would just look like a convenience store robbery caught on CCTV every night: first the deer, then the coyotes and last the errant-looking raccoons.

Hay-colored sunshine and the rich scent of leaves turning. Me with the same daily pattern of long fade-outs at night, long fade-ins in the morning. The sun dropped out of the sky fast and was in no hurry to get up. I missed the woods but you could have lots of fun with just the sky. Always a reminder of something bigger than ourselves, always there.

Categories: Creative Nonfiction, inspiration

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, journal writing, Memoir, pacific northwest