You touch a cloud for a while but the wheel of time turns and you watch it go. You imagine that it might return, hoping for a future with that cloud in it. The seasons ignore your imagings and bring forth the fog, leaving you wondering whether that cloud is in that fog. You can always make it out but it is not there, and you doubt that it ever was. Your hope seeps like a wound every time you pick at it, and you become surprised at how much hope you actually have – how much faith you place in such a simple idea. Then of course you realise you’ve seen thousands of clouds pass in the watching of the sky, right by you. You become enchanted by the thousands of clouds that pass by you and thank that first cloud that you touched for helping you see the stars.
Of course then you wonder what you can do next.