One day flying over the wide wide green sea I found there in front of my eyes, yes I did, a lofty big cloud with terrible fringes, flying fierce in the wind. All the way around this thing jagged flaming banners razor sharp and snapping. Pulled up short out of reach and there I hovered. Circled I did then slowly up and over around and under this hungry wet cloud, avoiding its flagellates, checking it all out. Oops, unwitting bird beheaded there. I wringing my hands never seen anything like and I thought about all the many thousands of peaceful gatherings of condensation throughout all the many skies I have traveled. Now this writhing thrashing danger here dark grey nearly black in its core and I think, what I think, is this: that our cloud here is in pain. I will talk to this cloud, I simply will. So I wheel up as close as I dare and I shout from the very bottoms of my feet, I shout: Tell me! Tell me everything! Dead still there I watch: a slowing, yes, there is a slowing in the thrashing of this thing and I say, yes, just tell me all about it. And this cloud I’m not kidding inhales and rotates, coming round I suppose to get an eye or something aimed at my voice, meanwhile I stop breathing altogether myself. The cloud inhales some more, its very fringes pulling inward and I feel the wind rushing by my face, and then of course I am blown ass over teakettle 678 meters backwards by the storm, a wild rush of hail and sleet, I am battered all over stung my wings and bangs dripping, so now I’m breathing. That cloud in the distance pulsating, reds and oranges flashing through it. I need some help. The sun hot on my back drying me good, I throw open the hatch between my shoulder blades and I say to the everloving Sun above, I say, I’m too blessed little to do this by myself. I feel then, you know what I mean, fortified, like tall tall warm cedar but I can still fly, so I go back to that terrible cloud and I say, Listen. I say, I brought you some raisins. Which indeed I had, two big handfuls. I reach out to her with these I fly in close, she is pulsating, pinkening in the middle, still agitated but curious and I’m a big safe tree so I reach right into the tentacles and she reaches, I swear she is shy now, reaching two by two, takes and swallows raisin by raisin. Like good bugs climbing up through her translucent arms, each one is drawn deep inside. When my hands are empty, I bow to cloud and turn for home. I hear behind me, yes I do, one more big inhale, and then rain rain rain.

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One Response to 484.cloud

  1. I read everything you write here. This one, brought tears to my eyes. Something about the movement, her shyness and the way you believe in yourself in these moments.
    Thank you.

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