The Shape of Clouds

I’m sitting here, a place that could be anywhere, and moments linger, then slip by, since time requires a past to form the gift of now. The future’s a reforming realm towards which our nows must daily race, for the sum of moments must not supplant our destinies, else all is surely lost. And swirling in the currents of air, and swirling in the currents of time— perhaps awake, perhaps asleep— I found myself lost within and felt the prickly damp of clouds. Where glimpsed were all my hopes and dreams that lay in hovering expectation, awaiting only effort of my mind and hands to mold them into useful form. Coming to my senses I recalled what I had seen and knew for certain then that dreams are real and hopes are not in vain. Often now I walk outside where I’m content to fill my pensive hours, gazing skyward toward aspirations yet unrealized, and daily they’re arrayed for me, outlined in the shape of clouds.