As I say these words out-loud, they take on
Meaning, pronouncement of sky and earth,
Sprinkles of rain, fleeting shadows across
Open fields, companions lofty, mercurial,
Colourful, more than grey, they reflect
Sun, earth, sky, each other, vaporous
Forms, scudding, tumbling, or blue-light
Riding, providing comfort since childhood.
During youthful days, dissolving shapes
Provided fleeting entertainment, lying on
Blankets, gazing upwards. For timeless
Moments, cascading worlds passed by. With
Ever-present clouds, months blurred into
Whimsical memories, lost or recalled in
Adulthood, when in pre-waking dreams,
Eternal soul recalls heavenly wonders.
Yes, there is comfort in clouds, earth’s night
Covering, holding warmth, fending winter cold.
Pastel light reflected on blustery afternoons,
Ocean, sky, sun, last colours of palette-painted
Dusk. On ocean beach, I take time to observe,
To contemplate the world, myself, family,
Who and what I am, dress rehearsal before
Divine reckoning, clouds reveal this infinity.
As snow falls this winter night, white flakes
Softening earth’s contours, clouds have given
Of themselves, needed moisture for dormant
Farms and fields, sparkling diadems on distant
Ridges and hills, nestling on tree branches,
Clouds roof-resting, and by melting into
Water running, they beckon spring, renewal,
Growth, promising comfort for another year.
John Constable is one my favourite 19th century
artists, especially his paintings including majestic
Clouds. Perhaps he found “comfort in clouds.”