Driving Home

Headlights from oncoming cars projected out into the intersection, illuminating the falling rain. Columns of clouds stood, chiseled from the very air into sculptures as firm as the earth below, slowly, crumbling in a stop-motion time lapse. Shadows cast from the rim of mountains hundreds of miles away crept up these shifting giants as they fell facewards into the setting sun.

Ahead: a fantastic wall of billowing rawness, pushed up against the hills where it would spill out guts of new life onto land emptied of itself—always up, up over and thinner into the distance. Behind: a golden haze of sunlight and diffused hues, all spun horizontal and slowly descending.

I spent the whole drive home staring at the sky—my camera locked in an apartment I would reach long after the moment of its need. My eyes and memory would have to suffice for these shifting scenes… and the only Take-Home worth unburdening was the mantra I’ve said a hundred times already: don’t ever leave home without your camera again.

Still, the value of the day lies not in what I saw, but in what I foresaw. That place I glimpsed full of monster clouds and prism brilliance, of shifting blues-in-shadow across standing golden-hued pillars. That, or somewhere above it, is my future home…

…and I can’t wait.

I even asked God for a hammock (for that day). I don’t think I’ll need it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask.

~ by joshuacreative on March 5, 2009.