I’m looking at the clouds above the Intercoastal – water and sky with a cool breeze blowing. What’s up there behind those white fluffy masses that change shape and colors, with shades of grey on their underbellies? I look up again from the page I’m writing and the cloud I was admiring has disappeared. Where do they go, do you suppose – the ones that vanish? Is there a message they leave behind?
I have more questions than insights today. I went to sneak into the park next door to rest on one of its benches, when I realized the park was open! with a sign saying maintain 6 feet apart. I asked one of the young fisherman if they’d opened the beaches. Bike riding on the Intercoastal without crossing the bridge, I didn’t pass the ocean. “Not yet,” he said wistfully.
There are families out fishing together and couples walking their dogs. I even see some kites flying on the other side of the park. Humans venturing out of hibernation with small tentative steps.
Even the clouds feel lighter now, fluffier. Or is it just me, the observer changing them? Are those of us down here in the reopened Lantana park, sharing our brightness with them? A translucent blue-black raven just strutted by looking for lunch, proud and happy or seeming so.
Kids nearby delight in catching small fish with their dad as did I when I was their age the first time I came to Florida in the late 50s. Many things have changed since then. Fishing with dad off the pier and the excitement of that wiggly thing on the end of your line, not big enough to do anything with but throw it back and delight in its escape – that’s timeless.
Clouds are timeless too. Ever changing, coming and going – heavy or full of light, yet constant in their way. Entertaining us with their shapes that stimulate our imaginations to see dragons and butterflies morphing into whales and fairies. I’m looking up today, seeing what’s there to be discovered.
April 30, 2020