While catching a glance at the reflection of my neighbor’s window panes; discovering the shape of clouds are curling their corners and have found the riptide of the wind. They catch on, from the underside and there; they begin their ride through this urbanized city scape.
It is not not an uncommon sight. there is nothing particularly poetic about the appearance of these clouds. Neither was their moving on, something more magical than the ones that rolled by, minutes or hours before.
Where i found magic, was in simply observing it. This mundane activity, that takes place every waking moment; is so often left unrealized.
For those few, short moments, i was aware and awake. watching the trembling of their frail edges, throb at the slightest waft. They caught light, at different angles. Staining these grey blue skies, with soft droplets of organic shapes.
These clouds, carried with their moving, more than what met my eye;
a bird, a dove,