There is something so compelling about a turbulent sky. I don’t wish to avoid it or pray for its absence. It instills in me a powerful sense of being alive. It promises a brighter future, it teases me with its secrets. Turbulence is as old as time and as young as the day it appears. I’m always nostalgic under the intense stare of its magic, remembering sadness, haunted by loss, swept up in the drama of nature, a sky that promises thunder, teases to light up the sky and make my heart pop. I long for things I used to have under its threat. I miss the people I used to know and wonder where death took them. A turbulent sky is both a warning and a stroke. It’s a whisper and a scream. It gives me everything I am and takes away nothing. Within turbulence there is hope of light, there is revelation and exhilaration. It never appears without the promise of change. I could spend the rest of my life walking under a turbulent sky toward the light.
