Clouds drift
not in a hurry
not even with purpose
just movement
soft and slow
like thoughts half-formed
on a quiet afternoon
They stretch across the blue
some swollen with rain they won't release
others thin as breath
vanishing before your eyes
No sound
Just the wind shaping them
nudging them along
changing their edges
making animals, ships,
faces you could almost name
The sun plays with them
hiding behind
spilling light through the cracks
turning the sky into
a living watercolor
And you
beneath it all
watching
Still
While they keep going
untouched
unbothered
beautiful
without knowing
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (1)
Watching the clouds float around is so relaxing. You did a fine job capturing that with your poem.