The sky is the daily bread of the eyes. Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last evening I took a walk at dusk. I chatted with some neighbors along the way, and before I knew it the sun was setting behind the mountains; I had to turn back if I didn't want to arrive home in deep darkness. The deserted country road was the perfect place for me to fully take in the glory of the evening sky.
I turned and turned, trying to take it all in, knowing I could not. I sang. Loudly. I breathed deeply, grace in, gratitude out. And then I noticed that I wasn't the only one still out and about. On the far hill, a lone farmer boy was working the field. Back and forth, back and forth across the long expanse, he bounced along behind the horses, preparing the hay for the next day's baling. I couldn't communicate with him, the distance between us was too great. But I wanted to shout aloud to him, while gesturing wildly,
"Look up, look up, oh, please look up. Don't miss it. Don't miss the wonder."