The Sky is Falling

No matter how much they prayed for it not to, regardless of the millions of birthday wishes spent, despite all of the logic and rationale of all the scientists and philosophers, the sky began to fall one week ago today.

Actually, no one knows when it really began to fall. One week ago today clouds formed in the sky and began to descend towards the ground, pulling everything around down with them.

This was especially apparent because, for months before, there had been only the clearest of skies. Children everywhere rejoiced and chalked masterpieces crowded the sidewalks.

Bookstores quickly sold out of amateur astronomy books as the bright night sky excited people's thirst for names to put to newly discovered stars. Neighborhoods banded together in agreement to turn off all streetlights in order to better see what once could not be seen.

The Milky Way especially amazed people. Never before had they been able to so readily see their places in the larger universe without the wisdom of experience.

"You are right here," the Milky Way said with its celestial arms, as if cradling a child.

During the day separated lovers climbed mountains and skyscrapers and it was not so hard for them to imagine that the speck of dust on the horizon was their loved one, looking back from their own mountains and skyscrapers.

Airplane passengers took turns looking out their porthole windows at the many kites floating below on the slightest of breezes. Pilots waved to friends flying planes miles away and asked how each other’s wives were over the radios.

But then, one week ago today, the clouds came. Not the dark storm clouds one might expect from an apocalypse but great columns of white that inspired the imagination.

The clouds sank as a guilty dog might return to its master, slowly and deliberately.

The wind began to pick up. The clouds’ slanted descent did not worry anyone at first. Months of clear skies had left no one a skeptic. But then they noticed that birds would not take to flight, choosing instead to march, in droves, from tree to tree. The kites would no longer stay afloat, despite the rushing gusts of wind. The Lovers could not reach the peaks and roofs for they ran out of breath too soon.

The governments of the world paid little attention to the situation until planes began to roll down the lengths of runways without catching any air beneath their wings – not that they would know where to go since satellites no longer responded to electronic pleas for direction.
Cell phones stopped working and travel was limited.

Families gathered boxes of food and bottles of water, stayed in their homes, and constantly spoke with friends and relatives on landlines. In this way they became tethered to their homes and threw life lines to loved ones.

I am writing this from a balcony at a hotel.

The clouds are not far away now. They are more majestic than ever – the invisible sun shines from above, turning each cloud into a light bulb that will never run out.

Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring, weathermen least of all.

Some think that the atmosphere is shrinking and that we will become unanchored from the earth. Others say that the earth is actually growing outwards, breaking through the air itself. Some think that this is a passing phenomenon, that nothing but more sky awaits at the other end.

What do I think?

I think that one week ago yesterday I didn't think anything. So why start now?




Breakfast: More sleep.
Lunch: Cream of mushroom soup and spinach and feta quiche.
Dinner: Pizza.