Ric Johnson wrote this poem after walking alongside the River Weaver in Cheshire, UK and was inspired by the clouds that appeared overhead. You can see more of his work on his website.

SKY PEBBLES

Tight knit, these pebbles
Although not knitted at all
If our brains were in place.

Magically magical
But truly, touchingly magical
Though impossible to touch.

As if some god had woven them
Having shouted at stray clouds
To form up and bunch in tight.

Just letting us know
Down here but looking up
That some gods value beauty.

Whether knit one, pearl one
Is this god’s speciality
Is unknown to me.

However tightly knitted they seem
We know each pebble
Has its own resolve in place.

The resolve to be fluidly individual
Unmindful of watchers
Careless of admiration.

And, of a sudden
As I looked
Change and separation all around.

Pebbles unformed themselves
Indifferent to me, or the god
And how we thought of them.

No longer pebbles
Neither galleons nor dragons
Whales, pigs nor eagles.

But spectacle and grandeur
Clouds shaping, reshaping
Each day of our lives.

Well, fancy that!

© Ric Johnson