I missed the sky

I was walking along 38th on the way to Cav's last night, and I looked up to notice the sunset. The rest of the sky was empty, but a handful of fluffy clouds circumscribed the sun almost as if it was pulling the rest of the sky with it as it dove underneath the horizon. Distracted by the sight, I petered out to a standstill and felt my arms fold across my chest as my head slowly rose to take in the scene. That's what sunsets can do to you. They so much capture your attention that you almost forget you have a physical body, until you feel your arm holding its counterpart or a breeze brush across your face. Until then, you don't exist because you're caught up in something so much greater and more beautiful than yourself.

As this was happening, I was (and am) ashamed to realize this was the first sunset I had taken in for more than a week. It's horrible, how can I miss stuff like that? I need to mentally slow down, to trudge with my head up, and to go out of my way to taste the wind and the grass and the sunshine more often.

I'm thankful to say, however, that there has been a lot of time spent with my good friends as of late. Some of my favorite times have been the nights when we go out and sit on the grass between the high rises with my green astro-turf blanket, my new waterpipe and a variety pack of summer ales from Alegro's. The air grows sluggish and still, the temperature drops, and if you look out across the grass you notice little lights burning on and off, welcoming the dusk. Fireflies, mmmm. They remind me of Kansas.

I get a kick out of Curty, when he comes out to the grass with his cotton shirt and pants that we bought in Istanbul. The guy looks like a cross between a merchant from the far east, and a stoner from the American far west. But when he sits down with the rest of us, slouching on the midnight blanket and shooting the breeze like old cowboys, we're all just urban chill.

- Josh