As I type this, I watch the clouds move left to right across my window. The movement is hypnotizing. The sky is such a brilliant blue color. It appears to be a warm day. Looks, though, can be deceiving. The temperature is a chilly 45 degrees. I found a poem on the Internet that fits my photograph aptly.
© Gene Tagle
High flying fleet of billowy boats,
Quietly cruising celestial seas.
Windblown wads in whimsical shapes,
Gracefully riding the heavenly breeze.
White-robed Bedouins bound to the sky,
Wandering aimlessly out of my view.
Would that my cares could be as the clouds,
Lifted, wafted, lost in the blue.