You stare up, mesmerized, at the late December blue sky. The air around you is cold, crisp. Across the yard, you can hear your dad blowing leaves and your brother and sister yelling, but you could not move if you tried. You are entranced. The sky is just so…blue. So far, yet so near. Your sister runs by, pausing only momentarily to tell you something, her chapped lips moving but there is no sound or meaning that you can tell.

Your fingers are so cold. You move them to your pockets but continue to stare. You pretend you are a character and wonder what this area right here would look like if time were to pass by as quickly as it does in movies. The two windows, the roof, trees, and then the gloriously blue, open, cloudless sky. You picture snow, something rare and treasured, at least to you. You picture night and day and rain and meteor showers and the moon; big, round, white and luminescent, almost too bright and too big for the sky.

You think about how beautiful all of this is, in this instant, and wish that it was not so fleeting. You wish that you could somehow take all of it and transfer it into something beautiful, poetic, to share with the world. But as soon as your trance is broken, so is the beauty. The poetry disappears. And, for now, you are content with the wonder only in your head.