THIN SKY

Does everything feel ‘thin’ at the moment? I mean like the sky has been pulled tight like a membrane, and the world is creaking as if trying to hold it from popping off?

I think I might be tired. That’ll do it. Sometimes my face feels as though it’s been at the beach all day - that’s a kind of tightness; makes my eyes water and my head swoon.

It’s not just that though; it’s people. Four years ago we went through the most traumatic time in our lives, and somehow we’re all still processing it, figuring out who we are when we’re not locked in our houses for endless months. There’s a thinness of spirit, I think. War and financial crisis haven’t helped. Resources are thinner, and that always seems to lead to more selfishness and survival-mode meanness. Tunnel it through the social media amplifier and it’s all broadcast to the world as ‘the only way to be’.

The sad thing is that everybody knows it’s codswallop.

Anyway, the sky, the air, my face, people, it all, we all seem very thin. We’re dehydrated, I suppose.

I can’t do much about anything really. I can drink water here, at my desk, in my house. I can be nice to my wife, and I can refresh other people. I can try my best at adding depth and contracting width, so that I’ve got more to pour out vertically than to spread wide. I can try all that. I could probably do with giving myself a bit of a break too.

As for the sky? Grey, overcast and bright today. Someday soon there’ll be patches of blue breaking behind those billows. Then bright yellow daffodils will spring from fresh green grass, and the sun will warm the breeze.