The international forest

In the right frame of mind, looking up at the sky is like opening a book.

And you're the writer.

You're either an 'old' writer, the one who wrote, years ago, in the margins of his then girlfriends Kitteregde edition of Shakespeare,

'It seems like all of a sudden
I want emptiness to take care of me'

Or a 'new' writer who's been relieved of his responsibility to say anything and is free to look up in the bright Wyoming morning and see it for what it is.

Blue sky.

"Space is blue and birds fly in" Heisenberg is reported to have said when asked 'what is space?'

The 'old' writer and the 'new' writer are at least a light year apart, approximately the distance between being 19 years of age and rapidly approaching a 61st birthday.

Emptiness, it seems, preoccupied him from the beginning. Perhaps this awareness arose from reading Lear at such a vulnerable age? Perhaps his love of poetry, and its engagement with the unknown, his embrace of Keats' 'negative capability', which began, as far as he can now remember, about this time, emptied him in a way looking up at the sky empties him now.

So he looks up and starts walking way past his property line--which is in the middle of nowhere--into the international forest of the sky where he's sure to have a nice day.