hope shmope

“I pick the prettiest part of the sky and I melt into the wing and then into the air, till I'm just soul on a sunbeam.”

Richard Bach

      There must be a reason I'm looking skyward these days. Is it hope? There was a year in my life many moons ago when everytime I saw a plane soar over my earth-rooted self I literally ached with the want of being on it, leaving the sorry situation I found myself in far behind. Who were those lucky passengers who had the free will to go wherever they wanted whenever they so chose? Why couldn't I choose? There are those who say you always have a choice. But I believe sometimes even that is gone. Perhaps it is then the choices turn inward. Who will I be? How will I respond?
      But today? Today I don't want to be anywhere else. And I know this is a gift. Birds skirting invisible currents, helicopters whirlybirding the clouds, lightening and rain and pink elastic sunsets - my heart feels large under the sky. Maybe this time it isn't hope that is keeping me looking up. I think it's gratitude.