I've looked at clouds

Many years ago
A young, day-dreamy girl,
I scanned the clouds for shapes.
Mustangs and trains rode overhead,
Lambs tumbled, demon faces leered –
All white and roiling; never still.

Once behind our house
I – five years old – lay on my back and
Watched a creamy cloud
Grow, and reach, and grow
Into a towering thunderhead
Lit bright by slanting sun.
I stared at it so long, it dizzied me.
I ran inside, abashed
By vastness, and I so small.
“Mama!” I cried.

All week clouds have
Lowered, scudded, glowered,
Tumbled, grumbled. Thunder's
Growled, first muted, then aloud.
One evening, sun broke through,
And in a parking lot I found myself
Surrounded, bounded on high by
Whipped-cream cumulus majesties
Gathered round.

Fifty years past childish fear,
I gaped at mounds of white, gold,
Pink, and black against blue skies.
Clouds climbed each other’s backs,
Puffed heavenward, anviled out, and shined.
These days no vaporous animals or
Imps appear to me. Clouds are but clouds -
Complete; unwittingly sublime.


Cloud images taken with a low-res camera phone.