the passing clouds

his feet swung back and forth and up and down unable to find rest. an unlaced shoe stained with grass and dirt and the blood of invisible enemies bounced against the side of the oversized barbeque.

“that one looks like a pig. no…maybe a mouse.”

grandma, always wearing a peculiar smile, loved this game.

“where? which one?”

“the one with the nose. right there.”

the passing clouds lay scattered before the blue canopy of space. white opaque shadows darkened and lit up the crisp clean air. a dove and its lover flew through their line of sight leaving a streak of silver in its wake.

“where do clouds come from grandma?”

she paused. “they are God’s stuffed animals.”

“does God ever get lonely grandma?”

“oh, i doubt it. but he knows that sometimes we do and so he shows us these clouds to comfort us.”

a ray of sunshine shot between a turtle and mickey mouse. nearby, a cat lay in a rose garden shifting on its back from right to left and left to right receiving the suns breath. flocks of geese arrived home from their winter sabbaticals announcing their return. birds sang. dogs barked. a symphonic masterpiece of life arose from every direction. with a satisfied look the boy smiled as grandma ruffled his dirty blonde hair and turned to leave him to dance wildly with his imagination. he returned his gaze to the passing clouds resembling mountains scattered throughout space and rhythmic time. mountains that ate planes and stars only to spit them out disgusted by their metallic tastes. some days those cloudy mountains would freeze as if posing for some cosmic picture, moving only slightly because of the ache in its knees. and the longer you watched those mountains, the more they would shrink and look less like mountains and more like dirty eraser marks as if god himself continued to refine and perfect his panorama.

many days the boy would play this game with his grandma. their combined minds produced a startling effect of wisdom and innocence. he loved searching the heavens with her hoping to catch a glimpse of the handiwork of an Architect who refuses to stop giving. sometimes she would sing songs to him. songs of children laughing and flying and eating and fighting and exploring distant lands. songs of adventure and un-ceasing pleasure. and if time froze, it would find two children, one small in stature and the other small in fear, refusing to let time rule their fates.

other days, the boy would lie alone on his back letting his eyes pierce the deep blue sea. he slowly would bring them down watching the color fade from blue to grey to white as they rested upon the distant hills. he studied those hills and wondered what travelers forged strange lands to make their homes here. he would draw detailed pictures of them knowing that if he ever moved his visions would be etched into eternity. and all the while the silent clouds passed.

the summer days grew long and peaceful. children ran barefoot through orchards and waded in creeks. parents had picnics in overcrowded parks drinking their wine and toasting to the gods for their abundance of good taste. summer would dissipate into fall and fall would disappear into winter. the sky would be covered in a blanket of grey water and some days those blankets would weep. they would weep for pain, for loneliness, for suffering. and each tear that fell healed the ground. but the boy was never reminded that he was not alone because blankets do not bring about the comfort that he needed. only shape-shifting stuffed animals could do that. so when those winters finally shed away its icy breath and the sun returned to bring warmth to the frost-bitten earth, his grandma would remind him that though he may feel alone for a time, spring would always arrive. and spring always brought about the passing clouds.

time passed and grandma had to move away. the boy grew and grew until he became a young man with a job and a checkbook to match. along with responsibilities came stresses and busyness. and as if the chain only lengthened with more responsibilities, hardships came soon enough as well. it was as if time itself had pulled the rug out from underneath his weak legs and darted off into the distance. some days, he too would weep for loneliness and sorrow. only his tears would not heal the ground but rather flood his drainless world with salty pains and windowless prisons. he was getting older now. getting older makes oneself face the reality of life. people breathe their last breaths and pass into other realms to god knows where. others leave on one-way trains to some unknown future. and still others close themselves off to the reach of one another becoming but mere shells of a life once lived. and so when those days came, and they came frequently, the boy would step outside and breathe in the fresh air. he would stare at the passing clouds and be reminded that spring always came and sometimes it was there and he never realized it. and as he gazed at those clouds, he felt that far away, someone else, someone older in age yet more hopeful and youthful in spirit, was also looking at the passing clouds, being reminded of the days when little boys with large hearts and hopeful imaginations would look at the sky and laugh knowing that they were not alone. and that...that was just enough for him.

posted by jon havens