Heading Upstream - A Review

I remember the sunsets lasting hours. We’d sit there and stare, on the water, in the street, on the hill. Watching the watercolor sky bleed its colors into themselves.

Now, resigned to only sunrises, I opt to sit on the other side of the train so I can stare out the window and watch as the black milky blue is broken by orange, then green, then pink, and then streaks of light blue.

Here. Here I remember that the sky changes in just moments. They’re over before you have enough time to take them all in. They change as you watch. They’re still gorgeous, but they’re a flash in the pan, money in my pocket, bread in a river.

I crack a smile, alone, in a crowded train. I’m laughing at myself because I left late today just so I could see 3 minutes of a discolored sky.

The two New York stars seem to blink at me as I get off the train and turn my back to that light pink bruised sky.

The morning bleeds and reaches around me. And soon the dark sky I’m heading toward breaks to the same light blue I walked away from.

The sky is cloudless, a weird defunct alternative folk rock band plays in my headphones, and the atmosphere is dry. It’s getting colder.

But today the weather is a nice forty-something, and when I get to work the sun is bright. I climb the three flights of stairs, unlock my room’s door, reach for the lights, but stop. I walk to the windows, pull open the blinds, and sit down.

Today? Today is going to be a good day.