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A cloud's window

There’s a cloud

right outside her window.

It taps away tenderly,

with a mild urgency.

Like a virtuoso,

cautiously testing the melody.

Delicate in its reverbing

rhythms.


The other day,

It was just being a cloud.

Passing by,

stopping hither tither

for a few sips of water.


She was on the outside.

The sun lighting her up from within,

golden,

with a diamond sparkle

of the kind of salty water

clouds bring out.

Watering her plants.

Singing to herself.

Or was it talking?

Clouds aren't nifty with the language.


As it drank,

It could see the contours

of a tempest

brewing around her form.


The clouds can best foretell a storm's coming.


And so it tarried.


It grew

And it diminished.

Sometimes a heavy grey,

others, a mere

wispy white.


It took on shapes

and dimensions of its kin,

if only to seek It's own.


But it stayed.


A cloud never stays.

It knew.


It knew,

the only way it could stay,

was to not be fulfilled

with the water so dear to it;

neither be swept away

by the mischievous wind.

Cautious restraint.


And then,

The storm hit.

With the certainty

Of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

She stopped watering the plants.


A cloud can never be drenched.


It took shelter on her

window ledge.

Slowly welling up

with water,

and some other stuff

It couldn't even comprehend.


She was on the inside.

A cloud cannot tell time, but by morphing seasons.


And so,

it started tapping.

It knew the end was near,

and so was

all It could do

to stop it.


She awoke.

Groggy with sleep.

and some other stuff

she couldn’t even comprehend.


A forbidding shape

tapped at her window.


Her eyes

were the windows to

It’s own self.


Cautiously curious,

she opened the windows.


The cloud broke in

and enveloped her.

It burst into rain.

And she was drenched in salty tears.

In that moment,

the other stuff

that couldn’t be comprehended,

was.

Image Courtesy: boyfromhawaii's creation of a cloud ceiling.


Have you ever embraced a cloud?

As Nietzsche says: "You say, it's dark. And in truth, I did place a cloud before your sun. But do you not see how the edges of the cloud are already glowing and turning light."


There's so much we know about clouds, so much we can say with certainty, yet very little that we know about the clouds we carry. Is that because we know for certain that out there, far way in the sky, they look the same for all of us? Is it just because its easy to see them and know they're real? Have you ever denied a cloud in the sky? A multitude of questions, and yet answers can only ever lie within.


Here's to looking through our windows, embracing our clouds, and understanding our "some other stuff".

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