clouds + breezes

thursday, jan. 7: i walk out of the dark building. the late afternoon sunlight slides across my face and the breeze caresses my cheeks as though she hasn't seen in me in ages, although it's only been an hour. i smile and stop and my eyes close. i inhale the sweet scent of the sycamore tree and listen to the kids across the street tumbling out of their classrooms and into waiting cars. i open my eyes to watch the clouds. i see painter's strokes, smearing and sorting and streaming and bunching and highlighting. who knew how many different shades of white and gray could exist?