But there’s a magical, surreal, mysterious quality to them.
You can see clouds. They sit above us almost every day, moving about while we also go about with our lives.
Have you ever flied through a cloud while on a plane? It’s the most beautiful thing. These little pillows of fluff just jazz on by, pushed aside by the plane’s force, yet still remaining an element of the ethereal.
We aren’t so fortunate, especially in recent times, to be able to experience these fleeting and magical moments of cushions flying past us, as we sit in a man-made machine, high above the rest of the world.
So we look above.
Some of us, don’t even look.
I for one, don’t find them oppressive. Sure, they block the light at times…
But I feel like the beauty of clouds are made that much more striking, by the stunning colours and transparent light that shines from inside, looking out.
I take so many sunset pictures. I took some more tonight.
But I realised, how often do I actually sit to watch them?
Quietly. Contemplating. Observant.
I saw Hubbie was out the front after dinner. He had gone to take out the rubbish bins, and of course was called to stay and do weeding.
By no one, but the weeds.
We are cut from the same cloth. If you know, you know. Once you see one, you pick one, then you pick another, and another…
And soon you have a whole pile of weeds in a clump on the grass.
It’s work, but it’s therapeutic. I sat on the front bench, Hubbie looking for stray grass variety in my foreground, the sunset in the background… and I focused on the latter, with the former bringing me back to reality every so often.
The clouds shifted. The sun sunk down. The air was mild, mixed with the smell of cut grass, earth, and spring.
And the magnitude of life, both it’s simplicity and it’s inherent meaning, settled around me.
In this world, we are very small. But we get to do big things.