The clouds aren’t usually this quiet.

They’re trying to sneak by unnoticed.

No definition. Looking a little pale,

they scrape the tree-line like a hangover.

The cool night chained them to the low places

and now they slip away into the light of day.

With their dissipation I am thinned,

the heaviness of dark lifted,

shadows spilling as a remembrance.

Forgiveness as the dew,

mercy as the burning thereof,

and grace its antecedent.

4 thoughts on “Lifted

  1. The language of clouds. Never thought how subtle their self expression could be. Nicely captured.
    The thunderheads and the cumulus clouds on a sunny day are the brazen and bold ones.

      • Cycling across the prairies I’m seeing clouds enjoying the sky without competition from buildings, trees, and others things that inadvertently intrude into the sky.
        One day I commented on the ‘prairie’ clouds because I have only seen them on the prairies – the sky clustered like woolly sheep each with room to frolick.

  2. scraping the tree-line like a hangover…. very cool – love the images and love the mercy – forgiveness – grace part in the end that sums it all up beautifully
    have a wonderful sunday jerry!

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