The Clouds

I see the clouds lifted above, wedged between the blue and the invisible. The surface of them seem scabbed, like flesh that was dry, cracked and bled. So delicate are the fringes that one could not rub the edge with out it breaking off in the palm of one's hand, like peanut brittle. I wonder if they taste; moist, cold, saturated with acid and dust, stirred by the many rivers of metal and rubber which move the currents throwing tails of dust and paper-light spores into the invisible. The clouds they must absorb these things, as a sea cucumber sucks the nutrients from the fresh sea water that the tide washes past. Both good and bad these transforming, breathing, conforming globs take all in and give off her bounty. And so God has done this that His creation will not remain stagnant, but will be rejuvenated by the processes that He set in place years ago.