Under Purple Clouds

Under Purple Clouds

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. You must understand, this was not just a random sighting but an extravagant yearly event; their arrival was always marked 30 days before the spring solstice. They would set themselves right atop the neighborhood park, nestled within a slight forested area, next to the soccer field that breeds a spirit of victory during the day. In this designated spot, which they felt conducive for a success of wills, they would come out to prep festivities nightly for all the days before spring. It is said that it is them who throw the seeds down from above for flowers to bloom in the season. They set an intention with every seed, the flower being the physical representation of the abundance bestowed by the Gods and royalty above. The result would emanate onto the people, the fauna, and the land. Some poets even consider these flowers the manifested laughter of the higher ups. Not much like sunsets who cast watercolor paintings in the sky every day, these purple clouds always brought on a parade to celebrate the new era of renewal, abundance and growth.

These are the myths associated to these peculiar annual balls of fluff as nobody has actually seen the Gods, or perhaps, nobody has ever been believed. The sighting of these quizzical purple clouds, and the animals they would attract most nights, the ones who hypnotically gazed up, was bewildering enough. Domestic cats, dogs and even wild species would find themselves gazing upwards like a coyote the second before he devotes his howling to the moon. How the domesticated animals found themselves out there was another question altogether. Most did not seek to further uncover the whimsical thread sown into this reality; the contents of this divine intervention.

It was on the very first night of their presence that I spotted a God right up there on a purple cloud. I wasn’t expecting to see much on my stroll that night. It was intended as a digestive walk in the neighborhood after a big dinner. Still, I decided to walk towards the park in hopes of spotting a couple violet clouds on the first night. Although this brings people far and wide most years, this evening felt awfully quiet; maybe everyone had forgotten or would have rather waited for the latter days that bring on larger crowds. But there they were, perched on a cloud with a fishing rod and the bait was a white feather with a distinctive pink point. I wondered what type of bird may be decorated with such a curious ornament. They had tan skin and clothing made of luxurious silks, wools and cashmere; they glowed of warm colors: browns, yellows, oranges and reds. I felt their peace. I stared at them quietly for a while examining their face, while they sat in a meditative cross-legged position and eyes closed to the world. Over their thick eyebrows, they were embellished by a headpiece made of a wrapped linen that was surely brighter in its initial wear but represented the contents of his mind; old, experienced, flexible and wise. They had sunken cheeks which seemed derived from a strict health regime, a dark moustache with ends long and styled upward. I wondered if it would curl around the apples of their cheeks if they smiled.

Just like that, my heart sank deeply into the pit of my stomach. He smiled cheekily and I realized that they knew I’d been here all along. An eerie and ominous feeling took over me.

“Hello, friend.” They said assertively and directly looking at me now.

I swallowed hard and found myself in hesitation to reply. Was I about to talk to a cloud guy?