As I sit a thousand miles above the rest of the busy world,
I watch closely as the colors of the horizon subtly fade.
I relate it to my life.
My lips rest on the cool railing,
And my hands grasp each other as they rest too.
I think.
I always think about everything.
My focus is on the sky,
And I watch the obsidian evanesce to a silky maroon.
The wind whispers against my ears.
It's a wandering traveler,
Comforting another lost soul.
If I listen closely,
I hear the echoes of the other lost ones.
Telling me I have nothing to fear.
The sun soaks its color into the darkness,
And the maroon turns into an all too-perfect gold.
The wind finally dies.
I'm alone again as I tremble above the busy world.
The sun offers the gift of sight.
Bonne nuit, lune.
Bonjour, soleil.
The calm of the moon dies as the intensity of the sun is born.
The sky is a cheeky blue.
The busy world begins again around me.
