"Look
up at the sky," he said, and it was such a quick subject-change that I
looked at the sky. There was some broken cirrus, way up high, the first
bit of moonlight silvering the edges.
"Pretty
sky," I said.
"It
is a perfect sky?"
"Well,
it's always a perfect sky, Don."
"Are
you telling me that even though it's changing every second, the sky is always
a perfect sky?"
"Gee,
I'm smart. Yes!"
"And
the sea is always a perfect sea, and it's always changing, too," he said.
"If perfection is stagnation, then heaven is a swamp!"
"Perfect
and all the time changing. Yeah, I'll buy that."
*
