funk


As I tread the rocky and uneven pathway, my eyes behold nothing but dirt.  Grey dirt, brown dirt, pebbley dirt, sand, and everything in between.  You can call it dismal. Everything is grey and yet colorless at the same time. I have all but forgotten about color.  As I travel across the ground beneath my feet, I stumble over rocks strewn sporadically across the path.

I continue to walk along the ragged path, accustomed to the dark shadows after what has seemed to be an infinite journey, and notice something extraordinarily bright.  A bright, vertical line.  It expands as it travels through the air and hits the ground.  I take my eyes and allow them to follow the origin of this bright, shining line.  When my eyes reach that origin and my head is tilted toward my back at an excruciating angle, I can no longer look and have to shield eyes with hand so that the brightness is dimmed, but still apparent.

What is that? I wonder.  It’s so foreign. I peek through my hand-shield, between the cracks that are the spaces between my fingers.  That bright ball is expanding, more lines shining around it, and the clouds are cracking to make room.  Some of the clouds look more light, more white, and there is a strange color in between in the cracks.  Certainly not grey.  Far from it, in fact.

I believe the shining ball is what they call sun, and the strange color must be the new sky.  Blue?