They are always there, in some form or another, floating on air, on that invisible barrier. A shield between us and that constant translucent world of, of what?
Of nothing? Of waves? Of whisps and streaks, churning and puffing their way around and around the world.
Shifting from those soft, dismembered cotton balls to fierce towers of grey and green, illuminating and darkening all at once. Building a brief twilight. A glimpse into an other, an ether, a place that thrums and hums with energy and power and then…
Then they are the calm again. Sailing in on puffs and poofs and fluffy white stains. Like someone has trailed a white paintbrush across a blue canvas. Leaving a trail of pebble waves, that dragons and dinosaurs soar out of, splashing across a blue backdrop only to disappear beneath the waves again.
They are a constant to rely on, a reflection or distraction from the chaos of life. Trailing above like a comforting blanket in winter. A blanket of quiet, of hushed moments.
They are always there, in some form or another, floating on air…