So little of what I observe is terrible, grotesque, or even out of the ordinary. To what do I bear witness, and what does it reveal about me? That I only register the mundane? This evening after I finished work a guy at the bar said--Look outside at the light right now, I'm going to go see it. I went out after him and it was deep pink touching down on cars and sidewalks in front of the hotel and lasted like two more minutes. I got in my car and drove to pick up dinner and the sky truly was spectacular. I kept saying to myself--isn't this just like a painting. The clouds really looked like brushstrokes of grayish-pink and they rolled toward the mountains like live currents. I looked away from all the blinding artificial lights on every store and house and kept my gaze upward once I parked. Would I rather this be something awful? Would I rather tell you that I suffered? Would I rather have not seen it at all? But I can only see what I'm awake to. I can't not see the sky tonight.