Clouds.

Tipperary, Ireland.

Come with me into a summer field, covered over by a hemisphere of harebell-blue.

Lay beside me in the sweet-smelling grass, studded with wild flowers, and gaze up.

Over our heads, skylarks weave and sing; fluffy, white billows of cloud float and grow

Upwards, outwards: speckling the earth with fleeting shadows before they drift

Downwind and away across fields and roofs, to make brief shadows in the sunlit day of others.

Some will look up like us, and marvel at these blithe spirits; many will not even heed their passing.

© Jill Mabbott. 2007

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