I wonder what it’s like to be a cloud. To cast a shadow across the earth as you slowly drift through the skies. Would you hear the gentle whistle of the wind, or would it be silent? If you were to float low enough, would you hear the summertime laughter of the people below?
I bet making friends with the other clouds would be nice. You’d meet so many different beings over your whole life, only limited by who floats near you. Goodbyes would be cathartic. Simple and finite — a bookend not a fade. A natural conclusion to the story that makes you eager to start the next one.
Do thunderstorms feel like a satisfying stretch? The kind that crackles your joints in a euphoric release? And the sunsets — to be enveloped by the warmest showers of golden light. To see the Earth below washed in amber hues as your shadow grows long before it rotates around you. As you’re lit from below, you cast one last shadow, this time escaping its usual terrestrial bond before you drift off into the night, lost in speckled fantasies of a thousand patterns above.