Sky Times

I see a herd of clouds make a break for it across the sunset.

They’re a mix of creatures: part elephant, a little bit of monkey, some spider, some small hint of platypus. They emerge from a thick, fluffy cloud bank, quietly evolving even as they start their passage across the sky.

And I wonder what they’re running from; whatever it is, lurking hidden amongst the blurrier, pink-and-grey-shaded upper clouds. Or maybe it’s not that they run from anything – is there something they’re running towards? Or do they forget? From. To. Whatever their mission, they seem to make time to play, to double back on each other, to cheekily transform: monkey, to helicopter, to swooping bird. Gotcha: it was me all along! Elephant-rhino! So, how do you like me now, huh?

The clouds know a secret, don’t they? How to unravel and rebuild, how to re-invent themselves, and just keep moving forward. They know how to sail. They’re veterans. And they’re adventurers. And they’re children. I wonder where they find it in themselves to do this; to make of their own bodies, such art. But I guess there’s no bones to break, no rigid structures that have to be stressed and bent until they give way. Being fluid is the secret. And running on the back of the wind no matter where it blows.

Are they short-lived? Or are they eternal?

Take me with you.

My voice is a tiny thing, and only in my own head.

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work