I went to the park today and found everything and everyone happy and festive in the warm sunshine. There was the heavy scent of ripe grass evoking childhood memories and a little truck with its driver dispensing ice cream bars. Children ran and jumped and climbed and twisted in the playground while uniformed boys played a tidier game of baseball in the diamond nearby. I was there to walk and made my way around the path encircling much of the park and soon I noticed the clouds above.
Thick and curdled. Together and alone. Pulled apart and strewn about. Each lap revealed new shapes and sizes, new angles and accents as the clouds stayed put or drifted in the sky, brilliant in white and full of inspiration to imagination.
A child’s project? Cotton balls glued to a poster of blue, the green tree stamped in after.
No, let’s move the trees above the clouds where they belong.
Or better yet, remove all the trees; the clouds and blue are enough.
But something more. A moon perhaps – I think it was – a tiny green orb hiding in the gap. Look for it.
Inspired to imagination by the clouds.