The Clouds

Something in the static nature of the weather, calm and predictable, warm and still, makes it feel as if it has always been just like this and will always be so. Cloudless sky of blue. Lazy rhythmic chirping of birds. Canopy of green, as if the trees never knew bare limbs or anything less than flouncy verdant abundance. Fourteen days from the Summer Solstice. Kitten season. These are markers of time that help shake the sense of eternity that envelops me, lulls me.

Why bother about anything? It isn’t hot, it isn’t cold. Summer time, and the living is easy. Seems I should have a perspiring glass of something cool and sparkly in hand, a flowy garment trailing behind me as I drift from room to room and lounge on various pieces of furniture. My hair should be in curls. My nails could be painted gold. I could read Aristophanes and take a nap with the cat.

Charming weather we’re having. Butterflies bobbing along. I miss the clouds and know that I shouldn’t. When nothing is happening, that’s just fine. This isn’t the kind of storytelling that requires a crisis and resolution. This is just life. Life going smoothly for a while. What a marvelous gift to be nobody important with nothing urgent to do in a place so peaceful, lovely, and comfortable.

“Come, for all Nature is flashing and free.” -Aristophanes, Clouds