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40 Days of Living Like a Poet, Day 3: How to Read the Sky Like a Poem
40 days of living like a poet
The sky sits on top of you, keeping you in the boiling pot of Earth. When you feel your skin itching and the sweat on your brow, take the lid off.
Clouds form, built to a crescendo of white fluff, of gray streaks, of an ominous swirling soup of air and other. Trade your sorrow for the cloud’s tears.
When four hundred shades of brilliant blue aren’t enough, the sky can give you a palette of orange, pink, and purple; yellow, green, and gray. Take your paintbrush for a little dip in the sky.
The mind can spot what the eye wants to deny, in every elephant, every clown, and every sweet little panda. Your face appears in the clouds to make me smile.
A dark cloud can follow you anywhere, from house to house, from season to season if it wants, because it can only perform what your soul has written. Crumple your sad drafts in your hands and throw them into the river.
As a child, you imagined a white, fluffy cloud could take you anywhere, and all you had to do was jump up on top and take it for a ride. Follow these clouds with your eyes until they disappear from the horizon, and you’ll know where you belong.
