The clouds against baby blue this evening made me long for I don’t know what.
It’s a buttermilk sky, says my grandma.
She remembers churning.
I had a flat, plastic oval toy when I was little, which held blue and white sand inside that slipped in waves. I stared at that ocean, that atmosphere of our earth, as I turned it over and over.
I feel the same subtle shifting of sand, the tiny landslides in me when friends or acquaintances turn cold.
I got a blue, green, and aquamarine set of tupperware at our preschool auction, and I feel luckier than most.
