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Clouds shift their way across a motion picture of the sky,
framed with a large, circular skylight.
Raindrops left from a spring shower render sunlight into its wider spectrum on the outer face of the glass.
Their presence on the lens of the vision gives an affirming contrast to the great speed with which the wind carries the cloud-bodies through the atmosphere.
The clouds swim in the flow,
propelled by change, by metamorphosis.
Their forms permutate with wild abandon,
Every moment a new shape is held and discarded.
Beautiful shapes and always just right but only for that instantaneous wink.
And then,
the next aspect takes over seamlessly, languidly, gracefully,
almost so that you cannot see any difference,
as if the cloud-body never really changed at all.

Night now.
Raindrops hold only the deepening blue of the evening and the ever green of the trees.
Darker now with want of sun, the green waits for the moon to kiss it silver, magical, mysterious for another night.
The clouds have retreated into obscurity, hastened by the wind to the horizon and beyond,
to merge with the sun or coalesce into rain drops to bless the Earth.
A bird sings beyond the skylight, out of sight but very close.
It will probably sleep here tonight.