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The Ones That Paint The Sky

Carlotta, Staff Writer

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Dusty sand caresses my bare feet as I gaze the silent horizon. This is my very own special place, the only place where I can rest , a place that I only can reach and witness. Maybe it’s because I with my mind created it, maybe because I have already seen it somewhere, in a dream, in another life or past, but this beach resembles perfection to me. The line where the sky meets the sea calls me, no one knows where it goes…
 I sit down and enjoy the marvellous wonders nature offers me. I remember my mother always telling me that when artists die, they become the ones that paint the sky… and in that very moment I felt it was true. Dashes and splints of soft colours run across the sky like children playing with each other, and I feel the vastness of the sky, our little sky, and how small I must be if compared to the immensity of the universe. The sharp smell of salt sprinted through me making me feel alive and enraptured like I’ve never been before.
The wind impels me to approach the limpid water. I proceed to get into the cosmic ocean  in order to feel like I’m part of this nature extravaganza. It feels exceptionally overwhelming. The sky reflects on me, and I can’t really tell how many emotions are bursting inside me in this very moment. Am I scared? Do I feel just empty? The stinging water is glacially cold. I concentrate on my breathing as I attempt with all my heart to transform into an ingredient of this loud quietness.
This is how death and birth must feel if they happened together at the same time. This is what resurrection must feel like.
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The Ones That Paint The Sky