literature

I Looked Up

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"a girl told me 'ppl dont look at the sky anymor' so i walked around looking up & it was beautiful & i bumped right into a kid lookin at bugs" --jomny sun (@ jonnysun) via Twitter; July 17th, 2014



I Looked Up
A Short Story by D. Asa "Of The Sand" Benvenga
Inspired by a Tweet by @ jonnysun


​I spend my days in an office, sitting on a couch, or walking down the sidewalk between the two.  I don't really think, it's just kind of automatic as it happens - my life is entirely spent on auto-pilot.  During one of these times, my coworkers brought their children to the office with them, and a little girl said to me "Isn't it sad nobody looks at the sky anymore?"

​It caught me off guard, to say the least.  For starters, why had this girl approached me and not one of my younger colleagues?  I rolled with it, though, and asked her, "Well what do you mean?"

​"I think if nobody looked at me, I'd be sad," she said to me, "Why wouldn't the sky?"​

​I smiled at this, it seemed so simple.  I decided to indulge the girl and continue the conversation - I liked the simplicity of it; having the option to actually focus on something without trying too hard to do so - and so I asked her, "Well what would you suggest?"​

​"I just think people should look at the sky more."  She looked down at her feet and then back up at me, "After all, it's very pretty."  And with that, she ran off back to another cubicle, back to her parent.

​With that encounter fresh in my mind, I went to my boss and told her I'd be leaving early - it was the first time since I'd been hired that I was taking such a liberty, so she was fine with it - and I began the walk home.  It was still early in the afternoon, but the autumn months brought about earlier sunsets, and so as I looked up, I saw the cyans and baby blues turn into crimsons, purples, pinks; I saw the oranges overtake the clouds and draw their grayness into a new color somewhere between silver and white.  I was walking home looking up, and I realized that it was beautiful, and at about the half-way point, I bumped into a kid who was crouched down, poking at an ant hill with a stick.​

​"I'm sorry about that," I said to him.  He shrugged in response.  Remembering my earlier encounter, I went out of my comfort zone and asked this boy, "What are you doing?"

​He looked up at me and smiled a wide grin.  "I'm looking at bugs!" he said triumphantly.
​I wondered, first inwardly, what made them so interesting to him, and then asked said question, "What's so interesting about bugs?"

​He seemed shocked for a moment, but his face lit up.  He began to ramble on and on about what made ants so special, and as he began on tangents, he pointed out to me all of the little bugs around us: gnats in swarms, flies trying to find food, beetles and grasshoppers burrowing in preparation for the winter months to come, spiders - which are most certainly NOT bugs, he assured me, because they're arachnids and only insects can be bugs - carefully weaving their silken webs to catch the flies and gnats.  I was awe-stricken by how many of these small creatures I'd passed by every day on my commute, failing to see them through the haze of auto-pilot.

​I thanked him and told him to hurry home before it got much colder, and then proceeded on my way.  I slowed my pace to a crawl, and found myself looking around me far more, and it was beautiful.  Off to the side was a small park that had been constructed only a few years after I'd moved to the area, yet I'd never set aside the time to take a look around it.  Mulling about within were numerous couples, young and old and everywhere between - it was Saturday, you see, so many folk had the day off and were spending time with one another.  I meandered near a park bench on which one of the more wizened couples was sitting, and they called me over.​

​"Do you know what is sad, young man?" One asked me.

​"Is it sad that people don't look at the sky anymore?" I responded.

​"That it is," said the other, "but it is something else we find sad."​

​"Is it sad that people don't appreciate all the little critters buzzing about to prepare for the winter?" I asked.

​"That also is sad," the first answered slowly, "but it seems sad to us that no one takes the time to listen to the birds and sing back.  Once, that was what people did in the evenings: they would sit and listen and whistle along with the birds."  The other nodded.

​I smiled at the couple and thought for a moment.  Did I even know how to whistle?  Surely I'd tried when I was younger, but I'd never really needed it, so I didn't know for certain.

​I promised the couple that I would listen and sing with the birds more, and they seemed contented with that, and once I was out of earshot I tried to whistle.  At first, the sound was harsh and unpredictable, but within a couple minutes I was able to change the pitch a bit.
​So, turning my attention to the birds, I listened to their songs, and once the music quieted down, I responded with my own chirruping and tweeting.  When I stopped, the birds picked up in my place - we continued this for several minutes, until my lips were chapped from the cold - and it was beautiful.  But, as dusk drew closer, I knew I had to return home.  The sky was dark and no stars were out, the bugs had quieted and the birds gone silent.  I made it home and wrapped myself in coat and gloves and hat, and proceeded right back out the door.

​I would not give up that easily; the cold, the dark, the quiet, they were all also beautiful in much the same way.  I peered all around me, and slowly began to hear them - the creatures of the night, that is - with their own special chirrups, rustling, and clicking.  The stars twinkled brilliantly and the sky was beautiful still.

​As I walked, I came upon a man whose shirt and pants were torn, and his gloves and hat were too small.  I stopped in front of him and he asked me, "Why are you out so late in this cold weather?"

​"I am appreciating the beauty," I responded almost automatically.

​"Tell me of these beauties you're appreciating," he said to me calmly as he began to shiver.

​"I have looked at the sky and seen all its magnificent colors, as well as its bright, shining stars; and I have looked at and listened to the bugs and creatures too small to assert themselves on us, and seen how great they can be though their stature is small; and I have spoken with the birds and sung to them as they sang to me.  These things are beautiful, and it is sad that they are not as well appreciated as they should be."

​The man looked at me with a faint smile on his face, and merely said, "Ah.  They are beautiful indeed."

​I stopped and thought for a moment, looking at this disheveled man in front of me, and I asked him, "Do you know why I saw these beautiful things today?"

​He shook his head, rubbing his hands together.

​"I saw these things because of kindness, the kindness others gave to me to show me these small beauties.  I think maybe it's that kindness that allows us to appreciate the beauty in these other things."  I slowly took off my jacket, my beanie, and my gloves, "And I think that maybe, just maybe," and I handed them to him, "I should pass that kindness on to you, so you can see their beauty, too."

​He looked at me in disbelief, and offered me a smile so warm, it pierced the cool air; he thanked me and said "bless you" and told me how gracious it was that I'd be willing to give him my things.

​This too, I feel, is beauty - being able to pass the kindness of others on to yet more people.

​Look up: it is beautiful.

​Look around: it is beautiful.

​Speak up: it is beautiful.

​Look inward: it is beautiful.



​A girl once told me that nobody looked at the sky anymore, so I looked up and it was beautiful, and I bumped into a kid looking at bugs.
This was an exploration of an idea I got from a tweet by Jomny Sun (www.twitter.com/@jonnysun), which is quoted at the beginning of the piece.

I asked Jomny for permission to write the story, and he was gracious enough to allow me the opportunity.
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