In an old Tom Cruise movie, his incarcerated brother conveys with disparity how he misses the sky. The worst part of prison is not seeing the sky.
At the time this was a fairly meaningless sentiment to me. Prisons these days purportedly have varying degrees of yard time or work during which prisoners surely see the sky. Oh, and I’m not in prison!
Am I free though?
I look out the window today, and I see neighbours’ houses. Trees. Pavement. I ventured outside in search of vastness but was still imprisoned but a solid grey blanket. I scanned the horizon through a full 360° turn but the blanket was unrelenting.
Suddenly depressed by the realisation that I couldn’t gaze at the heavens, I searched my mind for the last time I’d truely experienced the sky.
All I find are shreds and glimpses. Some blue through this window. A cloud through that window. A thin beam of morning Sol between the curtains. Stars are a faded memory.
