Stargazing, Daydreaming, and Everything Skyward
There’s one thing I can never stop talking about—the sky. Yes, the sky. That vast, ever-shifting, colorful masterpiece that stretches above us, like a cosmic stage that never fails to perform. And let’s be clear: I am absolutely obsessed. The sky is my personal Netflix series, my favorite novel, and sometimes, my therapy session. I could spend an entire dinner party waxing poetic about the colors of a sunset, much to the politely concealed horror of everyone around me. I get it. I sound like an overenthusiastic tourist, but can you blame me? The sky has range.
First of all, the colors. Oh, the colors! The sky doesn’t just show up; it makes an entrance. It’s like a diva in a red carpet dress, strutting down the runway every morning and evening. The sunrise? A soft, golden whisper that says, “Good morning, world, let’s make this day spectacular.” The sunset? Don’t even get me started. That moment when the sky turns from blue to gold, to pink, to purple, like it’s auditioning for the role of “Most Beautiful Thing in Existence.” I’ll often find myself saying, “Oh my gosh, look at that!” as if I’m the first person to ever notice the sun setting. Meanwhile, everyone else is just trying to figure out whether or not they should order dessert.
And then—clouds. They’re not just clouds. They’re fluffy, sky-bound sculptures, constantly shifting and changing as if they’re deciding on their next identity. One minute, it’s a puffy dog. The next, it’s an angry sea monster. I could easily lose hours just staring at clouds, reimagining them as various mythical creatures, or filling in the blanks of their abstract shapes. A giant cloud? Clearly, it’s the giant squid from my dreams. The smaller, wispy ones? A handful of cotton candy sprinkled across the heavens by an invisible, playful child. There’s no end to the sky’s imagination—and that, of course, means I have none either.
And who could forget the stars? Ah, the stars. When night falls, the sky’s transformation is nothing short of magical. The stars twinkle with a kind of quiet confidence, as if they know they’re the ultimate cosmic VIPs. And there I am, standing on the ground like a giddy child at an amusement park, pointing out constellations with all the expertise of a novice. “That’s Orion’s Belt!” I say, though half the time, I’m just guessing. And yet, it feels like an event. “No,” my friends say, “that’s just a lamp post.” But I know. I know that deep down, the stars are talking to me.
Then, of course, there’s the sky’s mood swings. One minute, it’s serene and tranquil, like the sky’s just had a spa day. The next, it’s storming, with dark clouds racing across the horizon, throwing a tantrum worthy of a toddler who didn’t get the last cookie. And I love it. The unpredictability of it all—how one moment you can be basking in sunshine, and the next, it’s a torrential downpour that forces you to make questionable life decisions (like running for cover under a tree). The sky is a perfect reminder that nothing is permanent, not even the weather. And isn’t that beautiful?
And who can forget the sheer drama of a rainbow? It’s like the sky is showing off just when you need it most, as if to say, “Hey, I know things are a little gloomy, but how about this burst of magic just when you least expect it?” It’s not a small thing—rainbows demand your attention. They’re like the grand finale of a fireworks show that pops up for no reason, and suddenly, you’re convinced the universe is applauding your existence.
I think that’s why I can’t stop talking about the sky. It’s the one thing that never gets old. It’s constantly evolving, transforming, and offering up beauty and wonder, no matter how many times we look at it. It’s the perfect metaphor for life: unpredictable, ever-changing, a bit dramatic, but endlessly fascinating. So the next time you find me staring up at the sky, completely lost in its swirling clouds or sparkling stars, just know—there’s no stopping it. It’s my one obsession, Because let’s face it—if the sky is going to put on a show every single day, the least I can do is appreciate it. And if that means turning every conversation into a love letter to the heavens, well, so be it.
