​I have always found clouds

so fascinating –

the way that they peacefully hang in the air

as though from an invisible thread.

Some times they are as high as the stars 

but some times they are so low that they hide the mountain tops.

It makes me wonder:

Is fog, then, merely clouds longing to go home? 

Is water, then, merely droplets of homesick clouds?

Or are clouds 

merely masses of unhappy water,

migrating to a happier place?

  

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