Sometimes I pretend I am a poet. This is what happens.
Sometimes I lay and watch the clouds
as they float on by
and I am taken by how much clouds are like life.
Their shape changes as the wind blows,
but sometimes, sometimes they stay.
They seem stuck in the sky, unable to move, to feel, to do anything, but stay.
I wonder if they ever feel frustration?
Can clouds feel? Can a cloud hope for wind to blow it's way?
Do the clouds even want to move?
Do they even care?
Sometimes as I lay, the clouds grow dark,
full of rain, and hail, lightning and thunder.
They seem full of anger and fear, but is that what it is?
Are the clouds sad when it rains?
Or do the cry from joy knowing their leak will grant us blessings?
Without their tears we would have no flowers, no trees, no plants.
Without their tears we would have no life.
Their tears soothe a hot cheek, and wash away our anxiety.
We need them to live, no matter the unpleasantness,
and new clouds always come.
Sometimes when I lay I see a funny shape.
Is it a boot, or a fish? Or is it both?
I tilt my head and it takes on new life, a new shape, a new meaning.
But only when I look for it, do I see something new.
Can I look at life this way? Can I change my vantage point
to see what else is there?
Is there anything else there?
Of course there is, there always is.
But until I watched the clouds I could not see
that to find true beauty sometimes we have to tilt our head.
Clouds come in all seasons, they change, they evolve.
They never are, what they were before,
never see the same thing twice.
So clouds are like life:
Beautiful, confusing, sad, happy, strange, changing,
scary, joyous, weird, ugly, hot, cold, gloomy, tired, awake, living.
And so do we if we choose to.
So in this life I will live,
I will be like a cloud.
I wrote this, this morning as I huddled in my blankets before my 6am walk. I have no idea where it all came from, and it probably is a jumbled mess, but I kind of liked it.
It is beautifully overcast today and I'm crossing my fingers that it rains. Wish me luck!