The Empty Skies of Promise

 

 

There are these moments we feel, gyring upwards in the skies of promise, turning around each other as they rise higher and higher towards the blue of the summer skies of all we ever long for. As we watch, though, we see them turning higher and higher, moving further and further away from us, becoming long out of reach, until they are finally lost from view. All that remains is the memory of specks on the limit of vision, before they were gone, lost like the dreams you left behind on this morning’s pillow.

Now our skies of promise seem so empty. We do not turn away in despair, though, to see our skies of promise this empty once more, except for those clouds that are building on the far horizon. We know that somewhere out there, somewhere high beyond the reach of any reaching hand that could drag them down, those moments of what we could become are flying free. Each twisting around each in the strong sunlight, just waiting there for us to kick free of this heavy world that holds us rooted here, to fly up to join them when we can turn and turn around each other in the sun too.