a real pink cloud

01/04/2024 0 By BuddyCushman

Consider this:

A thin line of clouds glowed pink in the dawn, this morning’s walk, those clouds lolling, lazy, perhaps there over Mexico, not far away to the south. I walked a different route from the usual, saw things I had not seen, or at least registered, before. The silhouette of the California Tower in Balboa Park, just beyond the Prado Bridge, magestic in the so-early light.

Walking toward home over the wooden Quince Street Bridge, I was struck, you could say profoundly struck, with the blessing of just being alive. Just that. Falling out of bed into yet another day, all its invites, its dances. Dancing lessons from God, I’ve heard.