How Can a Sky Be So Important?
Isabella Moya
Just when the sun sets, at the same time every evening, the entire world becomes calm. For a moment the sky is full of colors and my city, Santa Fe, is quiet. Everyone admires, even if it’s just a second, the beauty nature has brought. Our sun sets at a lower angle just for our small city to see reds, pinks, and purples; scattering the blue we see throughout the day.
The clouds seem to be made of candy; I can almost feel the sugar rot my vision. The night slowly creeps up once more and takes the colors away, filling the world with darkness. But gives the gift of bright stars that are strategically placed across the sky.
My father used to say that each star was for every person who made it to heaven. That they were awarded a beautiful light in the sky, to watch over the living. He would point at stars and name the prettiest ones he saw. I would do the same.
My mother says that each star is for every death that occurs, good or bad. That nature turns humans to stars to take care of the sky forever.
I look up and name each star that I see. I name one after my father, in hopes that my mother was correct. I name another the pretty name I learned today, and I name the brightest after a friend who I wish could see the view I am. The sky is quiet, but whispers in rhymes. Nature creates poems for everything beautiful and everything ugly.
The clouds seem to be made of candy; I can almost feel the sugar rot my vision. The night slowly creeps up once more and takes the colors away, filling the world with darkness. But gives the gift of bright stars that are strategically placed across the sky.
My father used to say that each star was for every person who made it to heaven. That they were awarded a beautiful light in the sky, to watch over the living. He would point at stars and name the prettiest ones he saw. I would do the same.
My mother says that each star is for every death that occurs, good or bad. That nature turns humans to stars to take care of the sky forever.
I look up and name each star that I see. I name one after my father, in hopes that my mother was correct. I name another the pretty name I learned today, and I name the brightest after a friend who I wish could see the view I am. The sky is quiet, but whispers in rhymes. Nature creates poems for everything beautiful and everything ugly.
Santa Fe has the best sunsets and sunrises by far, and no one can convince me different :)