The cirrus clouds are marvelous today. Covering half the sky, wisps and curls tow tufts from the western horizon. Formed at very high altitudes, cirrus clouds are composed of ice crystals – heavy things light enough to fly. Awake only to themselves, they stretch in glory under the sun.
High and away, cirrus clouds have no connection to our ground, our world of minutiae. Theirs is a grand scene, visible from before to after. They have not the ponderousness of storm clouds, lightening does not ensue, and they do not ensnare building and driver in foggy clutch.
A passing beauty to our too-important-world, they snort and toss their heads at our drudgery.
But they move for a reason – in flight from an upper air disturbance, maybe a frontal system. They can see, and so could we. But so many look and so few see – what really comes this way.
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