‘From the tops of the tall pines the clouds appeared much closer than from the ground. You wanted to reach out and touch these massive, snow-white puffs. High above the clouds, a bright ripple pierced the sky and poured forth rows of transparent plumes. Volodya Rumyantsev said that these were also clouds, but they were so high up they consisted not of water vapour, but ice crystals. The plumes hung motionless in the cold, unattainable height.’

From _The Story of a Life (c. 1964) by Konstantin Paustovsky_.