The blue sky

 I love the sky best when it is clear and blue.

I love it even better when it is filled with swirling, hot air.

Now, the sky is clear and cold. I like it, but it isn’t quite the same.

It bites.

The trees have dropped their leaves. They wouldn’t want to let their soft green leaves endure such cold.

Does the cold blue sky know that the branches are green inside? Does it know they are like factories, in full preparation for what is to come?

Because when the sultry, curly, misty warmth drives the biting cold out of the air, thousands, millions of leaves will come out of hiding.

Then, little children will appear out of all the houses, with bare feet. The grass will think it is exhausting to be stepped on all day, but it is strong. It will always bounce back up.

Go on then, children,” it will say. “You are terribly exhausting, but I do so love to have you here with me. Go on, run around on me. And when it gets so very warm, and I am thirsty all day, will you play games with water? Yes. That will be nice.”

I pick up children from school. The blue, cold sky has made it so they are hidden in coats and hats and boots and scarves.

It lets sunbeams land on their shiny red noses.

They breathe in deeply, and the cold air fills their little lungs with stinging, shining sunshine.

It can be quite nice; the cold, blue sky.

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