I have visited and/or lived in many places with nicer landscape than Pensacola. There are no mountains, no valleys, no rolling hills. The beach is nice, but if you don’t live there you only see it every once in a while and most of your time is spent staring at very mundane little neighborhoods.
That is why it is very fortunate that we have the sky.
The sky in Pensacola has a spectacular and constantly changing topography of its own. Mountains rise up overnight, last for a few hours, and then are gone by afternoon. A meadow appears with weird fluffy white flowers scattered evenly as far as the eye can see. There are layers within layers, cities and countries and nations of cloud that form and dissipate over our heads.
Two nights ago, husband and I decided to go for our usual after-dinner walk despite a long day of grey skies and rain. When we opened the door to see whether we were going to get wet, we found this.
A perfect, pot o’ gold sort of rainbow, standing silently in the sky.
We congratulated ourselves on having gone outside rather than stay in our air-conditioned apartment and miss this natural wonder.
And then we turned the corner. And saw this.
I think that people are so afraid to sound cliched that they don’t want to comment on a pretty sunset. But sometimes you’ve just got to do it. Especially when “pretty” isn’t exactly the word you’re looking for.
I wanted to run up and down the row knocking on doors and pulling people away from their televisions to see the fire in the sky. But I didn’t.
We just walked to the end of the road and watched a perky little fox run in front of us. We looked till our eyes were sore and then turned back. By the time we got to our door and turned around for one last glimpse, the gold was gone and the clouds were grey again.