Mess

Sometimes when I stare out of the window, I watch how the power lines splice the sky into segments. The piercing blues and the crunchy orange shadows of November. I imagine each sample of the sky, a different place and time in my life. A different direction.

Though it may look erratic, the sky is no less beautiful, or orderly, from being sectioned in to  so many different images.

It's all just up there. The leaves and the clouds. The faint whites and giant blues. The occasional bird's nest.

I imagine cutting the pieces between the telephone wires out. Like puzzle pieces. Tossing them around, and putting the sky back together.

Perhaps different than we found it, but still perfect, in its differences.

I hope, very much, that my life is like these splices of the sky.

Out of order, and possibly a mess.

But very, very beautiful.