Daughter to the Sky
A non-fiction essay as lived by Cinnamon Spear
I was born a daughter to the sky.
Vast expanses overhead have become my breath. My family and I would sit amongst prairie hills studded with pine trees, consuming countless sunsets. You could see for miles and miles. The sky would flow from a crisp blue to a subtler shade of purple. Passionate pinks and oranges would come just out of that finally resting upon a vibrant yellow source. I caught myself thinking once, “This looks exactly like a painting.” Yet, I was quick to remember that such a painting could only be based on what was right in front of me since Earth is the original artist. The lower the sun slipped, the more intense the colors became until the horizon swallowed the sun and yellow turned to orange. Slowly, the pink and purple would disappear and you were left with a velvety twilight. I held onto those sunsets as long as I could before fully embracing the black, sparkling sky.
The stars were my heroes. After a bad day, you could go outside and lift your head to the cosmos to see them shining for you. After a good day, you could do the same and they would be right there celebrating with you. As a child, I thought we humans should be more like stars, supporting one another no matter what. I loved that every person in the world, no matter their color, …show more content…
In a time much less littered by technology and handheld devices, my siblings and I ran in fields of green and brown, catching wood ticks and cockleburs but not minding either because they were no less a staple of summer than wildflowers, berry bushes, and butterflies. We would follow empty cattle trails up rises, climbing buttes to look down upon town as if we were on top of the world. We would lay our bodies flat at the point where earth and sky met and rest in the sanctuary of that
A non-fiction essay as lived by Cinnamon Spear
I was born a daughter to the sky.
Vast expanses overhead have become my breath. My family and I would sit amongst prairie hills studded with pine trees, consuming countless sunsets. You could see for miles and miles. The sky would flow from a crisp blue to a subtler shade of purple. Passionate pinks and oranges would come just out of that finally resting upon a vibrant yellow source. I caught myself thinking once, “This looks exactly like a painting.” Yet, I was quick to remember that such a painting could only be based on what was right in front of me since Earth is the original artist. The lower the sun slipped, the more intense the colors became until the horizon swallowed the sun and yellow turned to orange. Slowly, the pink and purple would disappear and you were left with a velvety twilight. I held onto those sunsets as long as I could before fully embracing the black, sparkling sky.
The stars were my heroes. After a bad day, you could go outside and lift your head to the cosmos to see them shining for you. After a good day, you could do the same and they would be right there celebrating with you. As a child, I thought we humans should be more like stars, supporting one another no matter what. I loved that every person in the world, no matter their color, …show more content…
In a time much less littered by technology and handheld devices, my siblings and I ran in fields of green and brown, catching wood ticks and cockleburs but not minding either because they were no less a staple of summer than wildflowers, berry bushes, and butterflies. We would follow empty cattle trails up rises, climbing buttes to look down upon town as if we were on top of the world. We would lay our bodies flat at the point where earth and sky met and rest in the sanctuary of that