And then it would happen: a slit of cerulean between bruised thunderheads. A single feather of cloud shaped like a question mark. The way the sunset bled orange into lavender as if someone had dropped a watercolor brush mid-stroke.
But Iris always added the extra letters: irisintheesky . irisintheesky
"See that?" she said. "Right there. The space between the clouds where the light gets through. That's me. Not the whole sky. Just the part that's looking back." And then it would happen: a slit of
There, she'd think. There I am.
She didn't get defensive. She just pointed at the horizon, where the first stars were pricking holes in the darkening dome. irisintheesky