I was just looking out my office window and marvelling, as I typically do and have done so many times, at the prairie sky. Edmonton skies are always beautiful, even in the ugliest stages of the ugliest season in such a rather ugly city. Currently, clouds are a thick layer of cotton batting stretched across a pale denim hue of sky, but the morning light shines through in gauzy, glazed-over patches and in the horizon, I can see the pale yellow daylight and the thinnest strip of blue. Buildings in the foreground of this painting are darkened and appear abandoned and emptied, and the streets, save for passing cars, still with their headlights on, are empty. This is my city. As much as I want to move and I fear being grounded here, it’s mine; every street I frequent echoes myself and my memories and my favourite places and haunts, and every sky is reminiscent of a time in my life when I noticed the same things I noticed now, subconsciously or consciously. But the sky most accurately characterizes this place; it’s like a character from a novel on its own, a mysterious erotic damsel with sullen eyes, pale milky flesh, and silvery blonde hair.
The sky puts into perspective what I’m doing right now, and why I’m doing it. Why do I do this? I stopped for a few days because I was feeling dejected, rejected, discouraged, hurt, embarassed to put my words out there anymore after being told and shown that in the real world, my words are about as valuable as the words of every other schmuck and blogger and opinion on the internet – ie: not at all. And I thought, why bother? Why bother continuing something when the words won’t come out the way they used to because they feel so meaningless? It’s like Edmonton — I don’t want to be stuck here, I don’t want to be here – sure, it’s my home and I love it and I have great memories, great friends and great times here, but it’s not what I want in the end, becuase it would render my existence… not “meaningless”, but… not as meaningful as it could be.
But then I look at the sky; the way it characterizes and paints a pearly glossy sheen onto the emptiness of the city; the way it highlights the beauty of mornings and evenings, the way the sun reflects off high-rise windows in the middle of the afternoon, the way a long meandering summer day that rises early and sets late brightens the spirits of each of its citizens. The sky is that little something extra; it’s a bright, opalescent glow that shines upon something that might otherwise be nothing… and it will always be this way, until the sun burns out or until the apocolypse – whichever comes first. It will never go away and it will continue to characterize, to bring emotion, bring hope, bring meaning to this city.
And that’s all I really have to say right now. But I’ll say more later. I will!