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I was playing with the clouds today, wondering how they avoid the trees.  The outstretching limbs are a shelter I cannot escape, even if gravity was on my side.  Each cloud is on its own journey and has its own story to tell.  Sometimes two clouds will fuse, fighting for the same piece of sky.  With every shared path, a new picture is painted for the dreamers to see.  A bunny floats over Japan, but by Italy, he is now a roaring lion.  In Ireland there is a bus, and in Brazil, she is an alligator.  When each cloud gets to my spot on earth, I am bemused by the many lives it may have lived-was my butterfly recently a dragon, and my wolf an old man?

The sky is a living proof of reincarnation.  Every cloud filled day reveals testimonies of all the past possibilities, or future certainties.  (You would like to think the opposite, but how can the past be certain if the future always changes it?)

What about the clear days?  The days the arrogant sun has shone through, and the sky is bluer than we ever thought possible?  Are those the days we weep because a beautiful cycle has ended, or do we celebrate because our clouds, our dreams have gone on to better things-to better worlds even?

How about the rainy days when the clouds go charcoal grey, like the ashes of the dead and deceased.  On those days when they beat down tears on us all?  Are they cleansing us with the wisdom of their travels, or showering us with romance and fears?

My personal favorite is when my clouds are hiding in the shadows of the night.  I love the mystery of those tales, illuminated by the humble moon, playing hide-and-seek with the laughing stars.  At that moment, I know that someone is dreaming for me, and one day, their hopes for my life will be a reality.

I was playing with the clouds today...and then, somehow...I found myself amongst the stars...