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?