The sky changes, but its changes are slower and less pronounced than those of the ground beneath it. Clouds sometimes act as a map as a dome of blending tints among the main tint of a deep violet, sometime between dawn and dusk. By morning, the violet turns into a deep orange where it touches the amber desert sands, melting into the white purple. As the day ends, the stars hang like lamps from am immense vault. The distance between the vault and them is nothing compared to the distance that stretches infinitely beyond, freed from earthly colors.
The sky decides everything. It decides the climates, seasons, and when the earth shall be beautiful. When the sky chooses, glory can rain into the bazaars or pass a benediction from horizon to horizon. The sky can do this because it is so strong and so enormous. Strength comes from the sun, infused in it daily, and its size from the prostrate earth. For miles, the earth lies flat, heaves a little, and juts suddenly upwards into the sky in an attempt to reunify itself with where it came.
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