Interrobang Worthy

I went for another walk this evening. This time I left earlier so I didn't feel like I was pressing my luck as a pedestrian wearing a black coat at dusk. Tonight when I reached the edge of town, the sky was on fire. Well, it was pink--that pink that would be the color of fire if we lived in a world with pink fire. As sunsets do, this beauty slowly started slipping away as I walked around the block to turn east.

The sky has captured my attention for my entire life and has always been interrobang worthy.

Did you see that moon?!
Where is the blue sky?!
Why can't we recreate those colors!?
Have you ever felt this close to the stars?!

Today was no exception--pink reflected around the horizon, barely a hint in some places; blue sky directly overhead dotted with puffs of clouds; angry-looking clouds sandwiched between the blue and pink; all of this continuously moving and changing.

The sky, any sky, is a metaphor for life. This sky was my entire experience of Alaska. I realized, though, that I cannot perceive the entire sky in a single moment. I believe this to be true of my grief also. I feel like if I could bear all of it at once, I would implode or explode or disappear or [something dramatic], so I juggle pieces throughout the day:

always surrounded by Alaska love

living with joy as my daughter's mother

forever stewing with gray