To touch a cloud,
Those big, great, fluffy white things.
Eternal and passive, patterned and shaped.
Would it taste like candy floss?
Sweet and soft,
Melting in your mouth to stick on your gums—
Grains of sugar rolling along your tongue,
Leaving a taste of summer and innocent fun.
Would it taste like cotton?
Absorbing all the moisture—
Dry and full, neither sweet nor salty
Trapped on the tongue, like words trying to flee.
A cloudless summer’s day,
When the sky is blue and the world is still,
Not a trace of wind, just the sun on your back.
The heat rests on the skin, enveloping the mind in a trance.
Sinking deep—
Lids heavy with the weight of freedom.
Flowers blooming, a kaleidoscope of colours,
The lazy hum of insects as they dance in the air.
You wish for this to last forever,
But as the clouds return,
Reality jolts you awake with the sound of responsibility.
Lest we forget about the clouds,
Markers of the vaults of heaven.
When the sun sets, we’re gifted with tones of gold, red, and orange—
Occasionally, pink and purple spreads swiftly through the sky.
Our eyes rich with a momentary beauty,
The setting rays of sun splitting through the clouds like a holy force.
The hour between the hound and the wolf,
As the sun gives one last kiss goodbye.
Evening filters through, bringing gifts of stars, moonlight and mystery.
Life begins to stir, a howl echoes through—
Chasing away any remembrance of holy light,
Darkness descends and the night comes alive.
And what of the clouds caught up in a storm?
Thundering claps echoing from the heavens,
The gods brawling, each blow louder than the last.
Lightning released from the palms of Zeus,
Clouds looming, daunting and proud—
Reflecting celestial power, beyond our control.
We mortals quake in our beds, holding each other close,
Ear-splitting blasts, fear pushed up into our throats,
Droplets of water pelting on the windows, harsh and threatening.
Then—
Silence.
The clouds fade and the sun peaks her head through,
Asking us to join in on her joke.
The sultry smell of enriched cleansed soil,
Raw air, a rebirth of the earth’s senses.
Clouds assure us that our forms may change,
As seasons and cycles continue,
So, we must thrive with our purpose intact,
For time stops for no one, not even for you.