Between the azure blue sky and the fertile green earth lie cities of white. Stacks upon stacks of round, white puffs of beauty.
At 30,000 feet up, high above the clouds, there is not a crayon in the box or a paint in the tube which can match the blue of the horizon; all white known to man pales in comparison to the pristine hues I see outside the window.
Below, stacks are shaped like the cliffs of a canyon. Light gray wisps of clouds form the rivers of those canyons and they flow quietly and majestically through the sky.
Profiles appear in the configurations. That could be the face of Benjamin Franklin over there. That one looks like a character from a Dr. Seuss book. And there’s a giraffe. An alligator. An elephant. There is an entire jungle up here and if it weren’t for the wings of this craft, it would be tempting to set out on an expedition among the ever-changing menagerie.
Clouds have been a fascination since childhood when lying upon a blanket on the ground, I found solace among the shapes I found there. I saw rabbits and owls, trees and mountains. The shapes of clouds entertained me for hours, the product of a thriving imagination. They soothed as they made their lazy way across the sky, shapes changing with the wind, my dreams floating along with them. Clouds are the keepers of dreams, showering them down upon the population when they become full so that those without dreams may possess them.
Several hundred miles above the earth, side by side, these clouds could be the stepping stones to heaven. Unattainable from the ground, heaven seems much closer with these stair steps which beckon to those souls longing for the promise of peace and tranquility. Oh, to only be able to step outside and climb those stepping stones further into the heart of the sky where worry is inconsequential, beauty is eternal and hope is alive.
And if it were possible to reach outside the window as one of those clouds drifts close enough by to grasp it within my hands, would they come back empty? Or would I be able to hold all those hopes and dreams in the palm of my hand?
In the distance, the clouds sometimes look like futuristic rounded skyscrapers. What kind of people would live in the clouds? I imagine they would be light-hearted, buoyant people, without care save for spreading their buoyancy to those below as well as those of us who fly among them. They smile and wave as we pass them by sending us along the way to our lives on the ground.
I would like to live there someday.