the sky is thin as paper here...
I have always loved the sky at this time of year---really, from mid-October all the way through the beginning of April---especially in the evening as it fades to an almost transparent blue on the horizon, fading almost to white that shades into a pale yellow as the sun fades away in the southwest. Here in Bloomington, I love riding the bus home in the evening, heading west on 5th Street, past the old cemetery on the hill. The trees are bare and black and so well-defined, each limb and branch etched into the sky, and when the bus passes, they overlap and blur into a smokey web. Why does the sky on the horizon always seem smokey at this time of year? It is as if someone is always burning leaves somewhere.
Riding past the cemetery in the evening always makes me feel like writing, and I have thought about describing it in the past, but never did so until now. That ride, strange as it may seem, always makes me feel at home here. I feel more at home here than I ever did in Hobart or Portage. It's a nice feeling.
Riding past the cemetery in the evening always makes me feel like writing, and I have thought about describing it in the past, but never did so until now. That ride, strange as it may seem, always makes me feel at home here. I feel more at home here than I ever did in Hobart or Portage. It's a nice feeling.