Thinking of Clouds

July 7, 2022

I want to speak the language of a cloud.

I want just to be there, here, to float untethered,

to be part of this vast mysterious unfathomable universe.

I want to rain, to pour water onto the parched ground,

to drink up from waters down below

With the droplets from my sisters and brothers,

cousins, and elders,

to make streams and rivers and oceans.

I want to rain

sometimes gently

sometimes with strength and fury and rage.

I want to know that I am life. I am part of the whole.

I am whole.

I want to speak the language of a cloud.

What comes next? Where will we go? What will we do?

Feeling at the mercy of wind currents, thermals,

light, moisture in the air,

but never minding about that.

Not resisting and just going with the flow.

Not resisting where the the wind and light and heat take me

but always always looking up down all around.

What is coming?

I know that I will be here in this form,

this body, for a lifetime.

I know that this form will some day not be me and

that I will be part of something else.

I will become another cloud.

I will become absorbed into the mud.

A vein of green in the stem of a gardenia.

Blood coursing through the body of a tiger.

A home for sharks, whales, plankton, coral and kelp.

Do I grieve, do I fear that I will not be as I am now

forever?

Sometimes. And yet.

In the language of a cloud, I am. I am here now.

I float alone and with others.

I give. I take. I evaporate, dissipate, disappear, die.

I live on.

By MBM