Sky Moods

We crested the top of the pass and I gasped. The moon shone bright above the peak of a mountain. It was a big, full moon. A harvest moon. I asked my son to slow the car. I rolled down the window and leaned out with my camera in hand, trying to capture the scene.  I snapped a couple pictures, unsatisfied with the results.

“You like sky pictures, don’t you?” my daughter’s friend asked me from the back seat. We were on our way home from a softball game.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“You posted a moon picture last night on Facebook.”

“Oh. Yeah I guess I did.”

Truth is, I love the sky. Sometimes I go out on a clear night and just stare into the dark vastness. We live in the mountains and have almost no light pollution. I can see satellites gliding across the black velvet backdrop like a sailing speck of glitter. 

I relish the day sky too. I love how the clouds are like a face displaying moods. Sometimes, like me, there is a mixture, refusing to be confined to just one. Dark and angry clouds coexist with blue skies and only shadows and hints of emotions, like a pout or furrowed brow. 

With shifting hues and lights, prisms of color, it is always changing. The sky is constant, but it never rests in the same image. It is dotted with puffs of morphing cotton, or teeming with stormy potential, or even so blue it almost looks fake, like a drawing by a school child who chooses "sky blue" for her picture. In the evening, sunsets of orange and red show off with a flaming grand finale. Some mornings dazzle with purples and pinks, an early dawn greeting and sneak preview performance for those who rise with the sun. 

This is what I feel in my heart and soul. I too am changing, restless, passing moods like the intangible shades and shapes of the sky.

The sky reflects back to us what we see in ourselves. Sometimes we are flashy and bright. Other times we broil with dark, obscuring clouds, angry, sad, desolate, lonely, analytical, dramatic. Still other times our countenance is calm, peaceful, content, resting.

There are times we glow in beautiful colors, showing off  rainbows of playfulness, potential and promise.  

I believe there is always a light within us—whether the sun of the day or the moon at night. 

All these beautiful passing flavors of the omnipresent heavens remind me of our steadfastness, despite the feelings that flicker and pass. Like the firmament, we too are created to reflect and show off depths and subtleties, shimmering and roiling, moods caught on a breeze. 

The sky's beauty is the Artist's playground and shows us we too are a beautiful canvas, splashed with paint, a product of continuous creativity. 

Soul Salamanders

Salamanders. That’s the sign, apparently.

The other day a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she had seen a higher number of salamanders than in years past. Specifically, she asked what people knew about “water mud dogs” and predicting the weather. This, of course, caught my attention. I’d never heard of a “water mud dog”. Fortunately, she clarified they weren't dogs at all but rather salamanders. I didn’t realize that their appearance was associated with weather patterns. Actually, I didn’t realize we had salamanders at all where we live.

Sure enough, a follow-up comment she received echoed her prediction. “They were so thick in the summer of ’07 we couldn’t open our door.” I cringed. That's nasty.

Turns out the winter of 07-08 was legendary for the amount of snow fall we received. It was so harsh the Colorado Division of Wildlife ended up dropping food for elk and deer to help them survive the winter. Even with those efforts large amounts died, unable to forage for their food beneath the huge layer of snow.

Another commenter asked if anyone else had noticed the high amount of mosquitoes towards the end of summer. They were, the responder pointed out, conspicuously absent during the early months. Surely this was yet another sign pointing towards a long winter with piles of snow.

Even the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting a snowy winter this year. But they don’t rely on just any ol’ signs, but depend on a carefully guarded secret formula, locked in a calculator, known only by one mystery person. The formula involves things like sunspots, moon phases and tidal action. 

In spring, as the winter thaws, locals point to the nearby mountain tops with their layers of snow, predicting the winds by the amount of white stuff still on the peaks. The more snow, the windier it will be. The afternoon winds die down when the snow melts, so they say. There might be some kind of scientific validity to this prediction, I'm not sure. 

I’m a big believer in signs or at least I like to think they really do exist. Sometimes, when I’m struggling with a big decision or problem, I like to treat the common objects in life like my own personal Magic 8 Ball. Like, for example, three years ago when I was struggling to make a decision about quitting my full-time career. I used to put all kinds of, what church folks call "fleece", before God. "Now God, I really want to do the right thing. If you are all right with my quitting, show me a sign. Like," I paused and looked around. "How about that traffic light turns red just as I come up to it."

Of course it stayed green. I'm pretty sure signs don't work that way.

I like to ask for falling star signs too, one streaking flash in a great, big sky dotted with sparkling and shimmering lights--  just for me. I rarely get that one either. I know. I know. The cosmos isn't a crystal ball at my command.

Mostly I think signs are more subtle, kind of like turning lights on a car, just giving us a slight hint that there's going to be a change in direction, maybe a closed door where we sought an opportunity or an open door that leads to an experience we didn't anticipate. Or maybe a flash of an idea or inspiration when we least expect it. Still, sometimes I long for something flashy, obvious and directive.

I think what I really want are a few soul salamanders.