I wish I could see stars in the sky where I am. Not just the five or so that manage to stubbornly shine through the haze, but really see the complete expanse of stars that I know are there. Instead I just see a thick cover of deep murky grey, almost brown. The color the water turns as you dip your brush when painting. I wonder if it means anything that when all colors are mixed together, the result is a rather depressing dark grey brown.
I remember the first time I really saw the night sky as it was meant to be seen, or at least the first time I was conscious of it. I remember only a few experiences in my life with such a strong memory of how it felt. I was in Catalina for our eighth grade trip. We had hiked up a mountain in the middle of no where, in the middle of the night. It was altogether unromantic and unremarkable in every other way except that I had never seen the raw sky before. It was incredible. True to my city nature, I did not imagine that it could look that way. I felt transported, like I could see into another world. Things were so clear. I wish I could have that feeling right now.
I sometimes think about how the sun is always shining, but the clouds are just in the way. It's not that the sun isn't out. But that is what it seems like, and ultimately that is what matters to those experiencing it. Now it's the same with the stars. Of course they are right there, filling the sky beyond the shroud that surrounds this city. If only this cover was lifted, I could see them. But my reality is that they aren't there. This realization feels almost suffocating, blinding. How can I get past this barrier of haze?
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