California skies hit different.
California skies hit like the reprise of a song you'd nearly forgotten, like 10 year old birthday parties with fifty of my closest friends (I've always been a social butterfly), like piers and boardwalks which may be the same thing but in my memories are very different, like Disneyland trips as often as New York deli stops.
The skies here don't talk like the ones in the city do.
The skies back home scream for me to stay awake and stare, here they lull me to sleep. Singing sweet themes like movie soundtracks. There are stars here. Real life stars, not plastic, the kind made of fire and danger and twinkle. So many stars, most don't bother to look up anymore. And appreciate their being there. Appreciate their existence.
California skies remind me to breathe deeply and to taste the sweetness of each breath. They remind me I am young and small, but growing taller each day. They remind me to reach for them, reach beyond them, reach as far as my arms will stretch then climb onto a cloud and reach some more. They remind me I am full of energy and intensity. That I live in a temporary world made of paper not rock, and I have the scissors to cut myself something different.
The skies here are prophets whispering secrets in my ear, they tell me it is time to run again. It is time to search and get lost in things I do not know again. It is time for again to be right now. It is time to go.
California skies remind me I am not one to stay in the same place or be the same person for too long. They remind me I am always changing. They remind me I am more powerful than I have ever known and should ever let on.
California skies hit different, and if you are ever lucky enough to sit beneath one, try not to even blink, in case you miss it's message.
