The picture of a cloudy day, unpretentious treetops, and a white expanse of nothing. A simple palette and few expectations.
Sometimes I look for heaven past the treetops.
I could shut my eyes and envision the divine among those dreamy colors that shine through the back of our eyelids. But I don’t.
I picture heaven somewhere far, far up past those treetops, and the stars and planets, and past a vast emptiness that’s not ours to see.
It’s a cloudy day. The browns are browner. The greens didn’t bother to shine.