"Do you remember weather from your childhood?
Can you remember a specific sky?"
Actually, yes. I can. I remember being almost caught in a mini-tornado in my teens, how the air tasted of ozone, and how the sky turned dark and green in minutes. I remember doing paper routes in the early mornings come rain, snow, or warm breezes full of honeysuckle scents. But it's one specific sky that I remember most vividly.
It was recess in elementary school sometime in either fourth or fifth grade, when we were all let loose to play on the asphalt and the metal swings and jungle gyms. It was a chilly, windy, overcast, spring day -- probably in March or April. The sky was banked by low grey clouds. Not the fluffy cumulus kind; the low, heavy, stratus kind, that mean rain or snow isn't far off. It being recess and being a kid, there were usually more important things to concentrate on than the state of the weather, like talking to friends, getting up as high as you could on the swings, chasing around that one boy that you had the weird crush on ... you know, typical childhood things. But that day, for some reason I can't recall, I was just hanging out by myself, not with a group, off in my own world. I remember looking west up past the spires of the local convent and cathedral, just as a break appeared in the cloud bank. It was the strangest thing. The clouds opened into a perfectly square shape. Sun poured through the clouds, falling gently in streams through the air. The bright blue sky was a marvel to behold. All around me the sounds of recess continued. Dodgeball wasn't interrupted, the high pitched laughter and conversational roar of my classmates didn't abate. No one else appeared to join me in observing that strange cloud formation. It seemed like that perfect square of sunshine remained in the sky forever, but it must have been only five minutes or so until the jet stream, winds, storm front or Mother Nature closed the clouds.
I've often wondered about moment. Was there a higher purpose for me having observed that window to heaven?
I guess I'll just have to ask when I move on. It'll be one of the questions on my list. Right up there with, "what's up with the platypus?"
