Heart-Shaped Box
One of my favorite memories of my children growing up is sitting on the porch or somewhere with them and looking at the clouds, seeing what shapes we could make out.
Seeing their eyes light up and point upward. Maybe we could make out a dog or a dinosaur. Godzilla or a clown. A face. A ship.
Or a heart. More on that one in a minute.
Looking to the sky.
Maybe that's why I enjoy taking pictures of sunrises and sunsets at the beach or wherever I might be.
And clouds are different at the beach.
Storm clouds, cotton clouds. Some that are pink, some red or orange. The Sky is a Neighborhood, as the Foo Fighters sing. It helps us when we're feeling lonely.
Sunny days are nice. Times when there's not a cloud in the sky. But clouds matter, too.
In a journal I'm working on as a companion to my book, Caledonia and Me, I'm pulling together the my favorite images I've taken during the past year. Most of them rely on the sky as the subject. All I have to do is point my camera.
I always send my favorite cloud images to my two children, hoping it will give them a smile, maybe take them back to that front porch swing with their dad. Maybe share them with their children - my grandchildren and the light of my life now.
I also usually share the best ones to a few friends, maybe someone I'm thinking of, someone who is hurting and maybe can use a smile from the sky. Someone who is lonely. Someone who has lost. Someone who is lost.
It's not much, but it's a thought.
My kids are busy, I know. They probably get tired of another sunrise image from dad.
There's another reason, of course, I look to the sky. I meet Dorinda there. Maybe it's with one of those hearts. A giant D. Something that looks like a portal to her.
Damn, this all still seems like a dream. I'm going to wake up and she'll be sitting with me on the pier, looking skyward. At the clouds.
On the pier or the beach. Anywhere with her.
I know many of you have been regular readers of my weekly columns for Gulf Coast Media. Your kind words are much appreciated.
I'll still write an occasional column for publication. Or I'll write one here when the words flow easily – like this morning. Writing about her helps me, it's my therapy. If those words help one person who is hurting, who is lonely, I know Dorinda would smile. And what a smile she had – spectacular.
I just finished an incredible audio book – Matthew McConaughey reading his book. Greenlights. I found myself jotting down notes from some of his words. Here are some of the best: "Sometimes we don’t need advice. Sometimes we just need to hear we’re not the only one.”
So for anyone hurting today, look to the sky. Find a smile. Find some comfort, a window of happiness if only for the moment.
And for the moment this morning, the sky is clear, save for a few white puffy clouds. Storm clouds are likely later today. That's life.
Oh, the heart.
I wrote this column from my patio this morning, writing it on my phone and thinking about Thursday night and my trip to the Gulf State Park Pier for the eclipse of the moon. I wanted to share these three pictures. I needed some words. They came easily – from the heart. No AI. No edited pictures.
Just about looking to the sky from the pier two nights ago
There were a few other folks there, a few couples. Some fishermen.
An empty bench. She should have been there with me.
The walk was hard. Every step is hard these days, literally and figuratively. But I still take them.
The walk this night had the eclipse as its goal. That's why I went.
What I found was a Heart-Shaped Box. The Nirvana song came to mind – "... I wish I could eat your cancer ..."
Damn.
The kids came to mind. Watching the sky with them. I think we need to do it again soon.
Looking to the sky. The clouds. A heart.
And a tear.
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