Look UP.

I forget to look up.

The beeping cars and buzzing insects distract me. My thoughts wander into other states, like Nebraska and Vermont and Pennsylvania. Then I feel a soft breeze and a burst of sunshine pushes through a clouded sky.
You remind me to look up.

I'm running the race and my ankles are sore, my feet are blistered, and my heart is numb. I'm staring at the track just 8" past my toes. I don't see it coming. The obstacle in the road. I hit it at a steady pace and it hurts. I'm flat on my back, staring into space.
You remind me to look up.

Some afternoons I sit and watch people walking by. I have no idea where they are going. But why don't I care? A mother grasps the sticky hand of her five year old. She lets go of her balloon -- one of those big red ones they give you at Applebee's -- and it rises into oblivion. I watch it until it is nothing but a black dot.
It disappears, but there You are.

You remind me to look up.