Why are clouds so much more when they hover above the open sea? Something about the color of the ocean and the blue sky and summer cotton clouds, ahead, above, and all around. The sky and the ocean, similarly infinities.
Someone’s gazing at clouds from a spot on the shore, and I wish it was me. I can almost feel it now. And I wish it was me.
The picture of a cloudy day, unpretentious treetops, and a white expanse of nothing. A simple palette and few expectations.
Sometimes I look for heaven past the treetops.
I could shut my eyes and envision the divine among those dreamy colors that shine through the back of our eyelids. But I don’t.
I picture heaven somewhere far, far up past those treetops, and the stars and planets, and past a vast emptiness that’s not ours to see.
It’s a cloudy day. The browns are browner. The greens didn’t bother to shine.
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