I've been watching clouds. That is, cloud watching while doing absolutely nothing else.
Last time I watched clouds doing-absolutely-nothing-else, I was nine years old. It was a March sky, in Pittsfield, MA, and I lay on the hard winter grass, looking up. The clouds were racing across my universe.
That was an extended period of time ago.
I am out in the country where my daily life (as opposed to the locals, who are stressed as hell, I'm sure) is so simple, my world is rocked if the cows in the pasture at the corner are not hanging out, chewing grass, and nudging at their calves, when I walk by...which happened yesterday. I was horrified. This is farm country after all. But the cows were back this morning. I'm too relieved to demand answers.
So, I have rediscovered the importance of watching clouds. They move across the sky. They are fabulously beautiful, from airy feathers to black giants. They are silent, which is perfect for this place, where the sound of a propeller plane flying overhead (three days ago), brought me rushing out to the back deck to see.
There were clouds to see.
I like the wispy ones. The ones that look like egrets at a Mardi Gras party, or geese masquerading as sea foam.
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