Dear San Diego,
The sky is vast, ever changing. There is hope in it, but it remains the same blanket under which all life transpires.
War, famine, the list.
It's a hopeful metaphor in timid places, places where under its wonder it's easy to sip a cold beer and relax. Over such sprawling backyards the sky is trite.
Here the sky is everywhere. Then again, it's everywhere everywhere else.
Up there, somewhere, are wonderful unicorns, shooting stars, and God.
Up there is forgiveness, despair, and everything in between.
Down here is the sky's anchor. And we are all at sea.