9 a.m. on a brilliant & sunny morning
I get a certain, semi-indescribable infinite feeling when I look up.
The clouds - fluffy, white masses of hope - tell me that this life is exceptionally real.
It is right here, right now. It is fleeting.
Why do you think the picture-perfect clouds move so fast?
No beautiful and surreal moment lasts,
but that doesn't mean that the clouds won't float freely again on another day.
There will be more and more and more of these moments.
But quick - look now! Don't waste another day.
Because the days go on and on, sometimes they drag,
but the stark reality is that they will not last forever - only a lifetime.
A lifetime! - what an extensive period of time, right?
No, I think otherwise: life is faster than our minds can process, slipping from our tight grasp.
"Life, stay with me!" I plead and cry, but it always refuses.
It moves anyway, like the clouds - shifting, changing, fleeting, momentary.
The horrifying part of this thought, the part that nags the back of my mind (the part I recall in tears),
is that the clouds will go on even when I fly away.
When I am no longer a wayfarer friend to this earth, they will continue to float on,
shedding their beauty on the day, keeping the sun company.
Another, brighter thought, an easier recollection:
when I fly away, will I then become one with the clouds,
and know them greater than I have before?
Will I reside in their comforting shape and
in turn, bring comfort to those below, still present on earth?
They have an answer -
but they won't tell me.