The clouds aren’t usually this quiet.
They’re trying to sneak by unnoticed.
No definition. Looking a little pale,
they scrape the tree-line like a hangover.
The cool night chained them to the low places
and now they slip away into the light of day.
With their dissipation I am thinned,
the heaviness of dark lifted,
shadows spilling as a remembrance.
Forgiveness as the dew,
mercy as the burning thereof,
and grace its antecedent.
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The language of clouds. Never thought how subtle their self expression could be. Nicely captured.
The thunderheads and the cumulus clouds on a sunny day are the brazen and bold ones.
Agreed. You must be seeing all sort of communicating clouds on your trip!
Cycling across the prairies I’m seeing clouds enjoying the sky without competition from buildings, trees, and others things that inadvertently intrude into the sky.
One day I commented on the ‘prairie’ clouds because I have only seen them on the prairies – the sky clustered like woolly sheep each with room to frolick.
scraping the tree-line like a hangover…. very cool – love the images and love the mercy – forgiveness – grace part in the end that sums it all up beautifully
have a wonderful sunday jerry!
Gerald the Writer 
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