It’s sunny, and mid-70s, and somehow I did something to my neck between yesterday and this morning. Ugh.
It was one of those long nights where you wake up at a time not a lot of other people are awake and you can’t go back to sleep. But here in the city, there is always someone somewhere, always a car on the road, always a person walking, though you can’t imagine from where to where, someone on a bike with a light that shines like a beacon.
It took a while, but eventually, eventually, I fell back asleep.
And while I slept, deeply, I suppose, though I had lots of very busy, demanding dreams, I must have done whatever it is I did to my neck.
Typing is more OK than I expected, which is good. Since, you know, I’m typing.
I’m watching some big, fluffy clouds, and sometimes, when I do that, I think about how there were clouds above long before we, as a species, were here to think they look like elephants and fish or right now the inside of an alligator’s mouth.
Did the dinosaurs look up at the clouds?
Will whatever comes after there are no more people look up at the clouds?
There is so much more of time than there is of us.
It’s strange, it’s really strange, that somehow we are the species pecking away a keyboards, sitting in cars in traffic wishing we were somewhere else.
Do other animals wish that?
Besides the ones in zoos, I mean. Though not all of the ones in zoos or captivity. Sometimes that’s better than trying to be out in the wild with whatever keeps them from being released back into the wild. I’m thinking specifically of a dolphin at the Shedd aquarium, who, before the show of natural behaviors, swam in front of the kids, going up and down, so the kids said “ooh” every time they caught a glimpse.
That was a happy dolphin.
And in the time I’ve been writing, heavier clouds have rolled in, ones with dark underbellies, though I didn’t think we were expecting rain.
Sometimes I think it helps to think about how small we are in the vastness of things. We are tiny in the hugeness of the planet. And our planet is tiny and one of an infinite crowd in the expanse of the universe.
Whatever happens here, planets will be born and destroyed. Species will rise and fall. Stars burn and burn and burn.
And eventually burn out.
Reassuring or depressing, I can’t say for sure. For me, reassuring. It reminds me not to agonize over the small things.
Anyway, that’s it for me today, even if I’m not sure about that sky now.
Have a great Thursday.
A Bit to Read 
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