Sky.
Knowing what a fool I am for a beautiful sky, there’s no reason to wonder about this first statement—the sky. The sky in Virginia was always very beautiful. The blue was brilliant, the clouds were big, puffy and white, the sunrises and sunsets were bold oranges, pinks, yellows, and purples. In winter the steal gray-blue was a solid, strong color. In Florida, the blue is also brilliant. The sunrises and sunsets are equally moving, but the colors are more pastel—more like quiet feet padding past your bedroom door to keep from startling you, whereas Virginia sunrises and sunsets are more like the pack of happy children who come running and squealing into your room and pounce on you to wake you with kisses, hugs, tickles, and giggles. “We’re here! We’re here! Come out and play!”
June in Florida is very rainy. There is a rain or thunder shower almost every afternoon. If one happened today, I didn’t see it, but then sometimes they are very brief and noninvasive. I love two things about these showers—not the humidity, and not the getting all wet part. I love the sky (again) and seeing the rain come across the water from my river view balcony.
I was a little distracted on my way home tonight because I was watching the amazing cloud formations that completely surrounded my area for miles. Actually, they still surround the area, though my view is blocked by my apartment, but I can still see what’s out there to the South. It’s beautiful, even at 8:30 in the evening. The reason it’s so beautiful to me is this: the cloud formations are so varied that it looks like an artist took a giant pallet and practiced every single type of cloud ever seen by anyone. This artist mingled them together so craftily that no one could possibly refute the ability of the hand that painted it all. There is shadow and light, shape and texture. Big white puffballs; Horse Tails; Thunder Heads; sweeping “Sky Mountains…” They’re all out there at the same time, and they play against each other beautifully.
The rain on the water is a special thing for me. I love to sit on the balcony and watch it approach across the-lagoon-that’s-called-a-river. It feels like someone is moving a blanket of coolness across me so I’ll sleep more comfortably. (If you weren’t paying attention, that’s the second reference to sleep—don’t worry, clarity will come.)
The size of the sky is just amazing. Really, it’s no bigger than it is everywhere else in the world. I think it’s just that there are fewer interruptions to the view. There are not very many tall buildings in this area, and the land is pretty flat, so more of the sky is visible. It gives me feeling of space that I enjoy a great deal.
Howard.
Howard is the tiny lizard who lives on my balcony and sometimes comes in the house to check things out. His body is only as long as 2/3 of my pinky. His tail makes him the length of my pinky plus 1/3. My pinky is a big fat cow sitting next to him because his little body is so lean. His head is smaller than 1/2 the size of my pinky nail. He comes in sometimes and mashes bugs in my kitchen. I like this—I hate cockroaches as much as I hate spiders; actually, spiders are fine as long as I don’t see them. They don’t crawl into my favorite cereal box or walk around in my coffee pot. At least, I don’t see them doing it. Anyway, back to Howard.
I gave him the name Howard because, to me, “Howard” is the kind of name you would give a fragile-looking young boy who is nerdy, scrawny, has braces and coke-bottle glasses. That little boy, if he is as brilliant as his nerdy demeanor suggests, will grow up to be the President/CEO/Mastermind behind a major software company, or some similar vocation. Either way, he makes good and his size, visual abilities, and crooked teeth are no barrier to the life of which he dreams.
My Howard is like that. As tiny and frail as he seems, he is very industrious and energetic in his obsession with teasing Binks and Mr. Bond by running across the wall in front of them. He seems to have figured out Bond’s height limit for jumping up the wall. I hope he is always as careful and lucky as he has been so far. I really like seeing him.
Sleep.
Here’s the clarity. Somehow, with the exception of last week when my bed was a sheet swamp full of cat fur, I have slept very well. So well, that I haven’t needed a full eight hours as in the past. Most nights I wake up in the same position I as when I fell asleep. I usually feel refreshed and ready to get moving…after I feed the fur-bellies, of course. I hardly ever wake up to find I’ve been fighting the aliens all night. Sometimes I do have to pick my pillows up from across the room, but it has nothing to do with aliens, real or dreamed. I occasionally have to throw pillows across the room at the cats to get them to stop fighting in the middle of the night. But, then I go back to sleep and everything’s fine in the morning.
My Commute.
The short route to work is 4.8 miles. The long route is 5.2 miles. Traffic is more than six cars at a light at the same time. I really like that.
Oh yeah, and there's water on my left almost the whole way there.
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