Storm clouds meeting up with each other in the dark sky, not to clash but to blend. This was not a 10:00 a.m. sky, more like the sky at dusk. Which was the perfect light in which to witness the small girl’s reach. Had she dressed herself yesterday morning? Was she out for a day with an eye on color; brightness her middle name? Oh, to just barely touch the reached for thing. For the heels to lift and the toes to find their tippy-tip. Ah, to be that little girl again. What are you reaching for? Which colors name your day?