Gray Sky

We were running north along the lake. Beyond the marina, the sky was an invisible, dirty gray. I watched the pavement pass under my feet, listening to the soft rhythm of Dalton's pant. We passed the end of the breakwater, and it was time to turn back. We stopped for a rest, looking out over the water. A gritty fog hung languidly across the horizon. I would have thought clarity begot infinity, but something about the way the sky blended so effortlessly with the water left me completely senseless of space and time. In one corner of the sky, a molten orange sun bubbled over, large viscous drips pouring down that transparent slate wall. I saw the world as a giant Richter. It was impossible to tear myself away, and I must have stood there for eternity. A part of me is there still.