Between Seasons II

The clouds are so thick until they cover the sun like a veil. They hide what lies behind them pretending it doesn’t exist. As if to say--don’t bother looking for any warmth this morning because there is none to be found.

Creation within itself is a mystery; this morning’s sky is no different. These clouds suffused together making it hard to tell where this sky’s mountains end and the earth begins. Their formation and suspension are a magical optical illusion appearing as if you could climb them and reach the place of eternity.

There is a rent in the clouded veil revealing some light--a small partition that appears to summon you to ascend into it. The opening eluding that someone might be standing on the other side. Someone who has survived and is returning briefly to shout from behind this wall, a message, to let us know it’s obtainable even when the way seems obscure.

We daydream and arrange scenarios through the night and in the morning dare not tell another for fear it sounds foolish. Often we are ashamed that we have visions, dreams or even watch the clouds. Maybe we are not afraid of failing—maybe it is what others think about our failures that hinder us from ascending into the clouds that welcome us, even on a cold winter’s morning.