floating throughout the sky, in endless tranquility, the intricately woven threads, creating a gentle silklike shroud of whites and grays.
Clouds, skies darkening with emotions as winds from north and south combine alike as one deeply pigmented, once gleaming with purity, now shielding pupils away from the bright, binding inferno to make way for sharp cracks of light.
Clouds, a strike of sound rumbles across the sky hidden from any child’s eye, yet visible to the ear, enough to drive the to or from the window.
Clouds, producing shards of liquid glass as they fall from the sky, a soft pitter patter escalating to daggers slicing thought the air.
Clouds, light as feather, strong as a storm, forever gracing or haunting the blue.