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Tuesday, January 12, 2010

The Day There Wasn't A Cloud In The Sky

The sky is a pure blue. In fact, it’s a blindingly blue shade of blue. A perfect blue. It is that blue which inspires our understanding of blue; what Plato would call its “essence”. I lay in the grass, its itchy, but in a good way. I stare up into that blue sky and wonder aloud, “What does it all mean?” From the outer edge of my vision, I see a cloud wander slowly across the sky. It reaches the center of my vision and explodes into a million little cloud pieces. I’ve never seen that before. It was almost like the sky was angry that the cloud tried to disturb its perfection. The sky was perfect. It was beautiful, the paragon of natural creation. Man could never achieve something of such beautiful perfection to match or even compete with the brilliance of the sky that day. The cloud, attempting to mar this, was justly punished by the sky. Once again, the sky was flawless. In God’s box of crayons this was the exact shade of his blue. As I lay there watching the day’s perfect sky, a bird flew out of a nearby tree and crossed the sky. A second later it too exploded. Perfection is not to be trifled with.

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