My grandfather and I used to sit together on the porch of our house in Rockford. We would look up and watch the procession of clouds drift by. Sometimes soft and gentle, other times strong and ascending they would provide us with endless entertainment as we watched this cosmic theatre unfold.
Today I came across a book entitled simply "Wind Blown Clouds". I laughed and thought to myself how proud would my grandfather be to know that he could have been the author of this book. But not just that - he could and would have been much more.
When grandfather and I looked up to the skies, we saw not only clouds in motion but rather a puppet opera. Every cloud has a distinct personality and purpose. When a storm is coming they are ominous, when good weather abounds they are happy and playful and when there is rain or snow coming they are rather serious. There are occasions when clouds merely, playfully change shapes as if they were bored. I have seen clouds shape shift from cherubs to dragons and from puppies to werewolves. But in the end they are only clouds - aren't they?
People are much like clouds. Ever changing changelings. Always looking for that better shape, a more perfect format, or that most ultimate essence from which to play our role in life.
I think that my grandfather taught me a lot about life.
Thank you grandpa!
No comments:
Post a Comment