Big Sky

Away from hills, bumps of magma cooled

eons ago, demanders of attention 

as we navigate curves.

Away from trees, spiny shards pushed up through

earth's skin to shade us, embrace life, 

play hide and seek with constellations.

Away from buildings to harbor 

Things we've grown accustomed to, 

think we can't live without.

Away from Life As He Knew It, there is Big Sky.

Stretching east to west, back and forth,

bluer than oceans he has loved or any woman's eyes. 

There's more oxygen here, he sees it pulsating in the air

until he draws it in, energizing jolt. He's needed this

for so long. For so very long. He sees this now, sees it as

clearly as the sky is overhead: his soul's been deprived, 

stifled, smothered, cells dying off right and left,

escape just barely saving him.

More alone under this heavenly canopy

than anywhere he's been, more alone but less lonely.

Freed from burdens, baggage, best intentions, 

he's by himself for the first time in his life,

delighted to make his own acquaintance.

The land is good, it's where he lives;

Big Sky is where he dreams.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012

A friend tells me that the sky in Montana and North Dakota is like no other he's ever experienced, that there's a reason they call it Big Sky Country. This was inspired by some of his thoughts.