Tonight the sky has been a grey companion painted with impressionist clouds brooding like smoke-grey mountains that float but hang stationary in the air. I remember thinking that they looked as though someone with the greatest skill had taken a brush and water coloured them in.

The world always draws to dusk, light to rescind until horizons blur, until; I can no longer tell where vapour mountains end and the earth begin. In this visceral mode of thought I become part of another world and as I peer up at the heavens like some ignorant and yet at the same time appear to be looking downward upon a land of valleys and hills backlit by the remnants of the dying rays of the days sun.

Perhaps I am betwixt heaven and earth in this spot and I imagine the future free of physicality. To be ethereal and swift, flitting across sky and land; to have one foot on Earth and the other upon destiny. I shall continue to take joy in every sunset, every cloud and every sky. For like the skies no two days are alike and yet each one is full of the most beautiful possibilities