The Sky Between Branches

There’s a place I return to often — not a physical place, but a shape of the world. It’s the space between tree branches, where the sky breaks through in irregular windows.

If you watch long enough, clouds and birds drift across these windows, like thoughts across the mind. The branches themselves never touch; they simply frame the passing world.

I’ve realized something: we often live in the sky-between. We measure ourselves against what we glimpse through the gaps, comparing our own stillness to the movement beyond.  But here’s the truth: the branches and the sky are part of the same tree. What we see as separate frames are really just places where we can breathe, places where we can look up.

Maybe the trick is not to fill every space, not to knit the branches shut, but to leave just enough openness for the world to move through.