The Next Sky

I cannot yet know what the next sky will bring, still a flip of the horizon away.

 

Will it be big, blooming dollops of cumulonimbus flirting between summer sun and thunder, giving at least a probability that the day may still be mine? Or the surer pall of clouds pulled over the day like a funeral shroud, calling an end to any recreation?

 

Maybe we will luck out and as the world turns eastward, nothing but the bluest skies will finish out my afternoon. But I cannot know the combination of blue and white and gray awaiting me.

 

For the moment, the sun peeks tenaciously from between clouds and systems, and so I take the plunge. Thunder echoes, too far away for lightning but I seize the salt water while I can and do not let go of it until nature forces me.