Sky Love

I’m a Sunrise/Sunset addict. When I die, my children will find hundreds of pictures saved on CD’s, thumbdrives, and computers of the skies over California, and much of the rest of the U.S.A.. They will groan and utter, “Here’s another sunrise…”

I just can’t help it! The absolute beauty of the sun slowly peaking up from the mountains or ocean just knocks me out every time and I have to run for my trusty little camera, and snap ten or twelve pictures. Many, many times we have sat at the beach as I take frame after frame of the sun sinking below the waves. Each minute seems more breathtaking than the previous one, and before I know it, twenty more pictures are on my memory stick.

The wonder of all this snapping is that I can upload all of the pictures from my memory stick to my computer and then decide which three…maybe four J I NEED to save. Back in the “olden days” when film was our medium, each picture had to be IT because of the expense, and I have albums filled with not-so-perfect pictures of…you guessed it, skies.

Perhaps as I think of this, I need to acknowledge the power of the sky over me at any time of the day, as I also have scores of cloud images; white and fluffy, gray and heavy with rain or snow, high and thin cirrus glowing with ice crystals. I have startlingly blue skies over the Anza Borrego Desert and Grand Canyon, and yes, a huge number of pictures from my own front and backyards.

Of course, I am only one in a millenniums’ old love story with the sky. My favorite Book talks about the skies in so many of its verses. (Your love, O LORD, reaches to the heavens, your faithfulness to the skies.) Perhaps this is the root of my obsession with the heavens.

Puzzling Passion

As I watched the faces caught on camera, raw emotions pouring from wide, fearful eyes, it seemed a disaster of epic proportion was eminent. Loud chanting punctuated by insistent drumming and clashing sounds assaulted my ears.  The camera panned away from the screaming crowd and focused on the object of this display of passion.

Two small armies of young men faced briefly before they slammed into each other, all intent on doing great bodily harm. Or so it seemed. Each man’s eyes mirrored the eyes in the crowd as they stared out through bar-like structures which covered young, tender faces. At one point in the confrontation it appeared that a golden head went flying into the air as a brown object spun the opposite way. A blur of tightly-clad blue and yellow men flung themselves to the ground.

Suddenly, the mood changed as one of the men tucked his head and arms inward and began to run madly away from everyone else. The voices increased in pitch as some of the other gladiators threw themselves with abandon at the runner. With supreme effort, the runner escaped his pursuers and fairly flew to the refuge he sought, an area seemingly off limits to those who chased him.

The sound became deafening and the drumming was joined by a  legion of instruments playing a triumphant melody which reverberated around the arena. A great celebration by the brightly-dressed army ensued as all the young men retreated from the field, hugging one another and leaping into the air. As a final act of joy, a large container of liquid was poured over the leader and many once-fearful eyes danced with victory.