when I was a kid, I never looked for animals in the clouds.
never tried to rearrange their bodies into a familiar shape I could understand, something I had already seen or already touched. hypnotized by these unknown giants, I’d lie in the grass, dandelions tickling my ears, and try to slip into their conscious.
like cloud meditation
but I was a kid and retreating inwards to get lost in my own spell wasn’t a practice I sought, it was just how my spirit knew to inhabit my bones. with my head against the dirt and mind cradled by cloud bellies, I was whole. I was free.
in this place, I would trace the prose sweeping my brain like my eyes would trace a robin’s flight. I’d let ants crawl over my fingers and beg caterpillars to do the same. I’d see myself as their queen, the queen of things finding refuge in mud and a million tiny grass roots, the ballet of butterfly wings and sweet dandelion stems.
that was the purest form of myself, like an orbit-aligning nirvana, like the giants in the sky carrying the purest water droplets and ice crystals in our planetary body, full of tiny particles I couldn’t name and from my tiny space on the ground, I was irrelevant to their ethereal power.
and yet, the clouds seemed to dance to the prose in my head until I didn’t know if I was moving to the their rhythm or if they were moving to mine. we seemed to meet somewhere mid-gravity. dancing in our own ethereal powers.