The cloud

The clouds belong to the dream world. With their changing shapes, their stealthy motion, their riot of colors at the sunset...they have so much to say. We have so much to listen. But lost as we are, in our real world, in our race for real things, the stories remain unheard, the tales remain unspoken.

In my heart I was searching for an answer. Answers to the storm in my heart. Storms, when they come, they don't follow conventions...they don't know civility. It sweeps you off your feet, though you thought you have grown long reliable roots. The shrubs and the grasses teach us, that the tempest might batter you, shove you in an unknown region, unsettle your existence...may be even bruise you. But if you resist like the big trees, you will be uprooted, broken, and tossed around mercilessly.

As I was surrounded by the clouds, white and soft, their coolness wetting my cheeks. I pleaded: moisten my being, soothe my heart. I have been bruised by a storm. Now its time again for calmness and serenity. To mend, to learn. Cloud, you are smoky, but you are also white. You cover the sun, but you also moisten. If sun gives us life, you give us sustenance. I will face the sun. I will run bathed in light once again. But today I need your flaky shadow. Take me in your arms.

She obliged. It's tenderness made me whole. Once again.