Musings.

When I was younger, I dreamt of jumping head first into a cloud. From below, I perceived it to be made up of substance as soft as my mother's shoulder, as sweet as whipped cream and as dry and cool as slipping into the fresh sheets of a made bed. The luxury of submerging myself into something so largely wonderful is still appealing. This afternoon, there were scoops of cloud floating in the distance at a perfect contrast to the sky; white fluff suspended before layers of projector transparencies tinted blue with old Vis-à-vis remnant. Our God is an artist.