Paddleboarding a Wisconsin lake on a still, sun-sparkled, summer’s day. I realize as I look down to dip my paddle that it appears I am sailing through the clouds.  Enchanted, I splash through the reflected clouds, loving the idea. What would it be like to surf the sky?  I switch to a kayak to play with clouds and water. Skyaking.

Cloud surfing. A thrilling shift of perspective. I have spent hours afloat each summer,  paddled on this lake for decades. Why have I never paddled through whimsy, never experienced the entrancing possibilities?

After sailing the sky for a half hour, the wind picks up; ripples overtake the clouds. I wonder if most days I am too intent on traveling across these waters, zipping along toward my next destination. So much so that I never see the glorious sky-water moment.

What options do I miss out on when my eyes are on the horizon? A sabbatical Friday, overflowing with stillness and hope, opened up the sky to me.