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The Summer Clouds


07.02.16 Posted in today's words by

The Summer Clouds
By Tim Bass

We had a stretch of days in June
when the clouds came alive.
They clustered across the west sky,
blue as bruises underneath,
peaks sparkling in the brightest,
unfiltered whiteness of the sun.
For weeks these rainless masses
materialized, standing before us
so tall and broad that soon
I saw them not as clouds anymore
but as mountains, real mountains,
a Himalayan horizon looming
large above us, far beyond us,
magnificent boulders with jagged edges
and arching, frost-capped crags.
All day they crept past, as if pulled
by silent stagehands struggling
through the thick air, real mountains
packing our landscape high and hard,
shaping at last the empty distance
on the edge of town. I wanted us to go
there—go onto those clouds and
touch their radiant rounded faces,
explore the violet folds, follow
the puffed contours and make our way
into the snowdrift heights.
If only we could reach the cumulus cliffs
we could climb their ridges,
survey their ledges, trace the crests
far over the glowing, smoky walls.
We could run up those mighty sculptures,
footsteps whispering against the
burnished paths of powder,
running,
building speed with each stride,
running,
ascending with weightless, dizzy ease.
We could sprint to the mountaintop
and then turn with the trail
that takes us across the summit
and into the blinding brilliance beyond,
out over the cool plains of grace
where the mist forms figures of dancing ghosts
and a surf of fog washes our feet as wisps
of cirrus rise in the thin turquoise air,
and we could run—run with the glee
of a broken fever, racing over the mint hills
and through the soft currents of ice streams
rolling across limitless fields of snow.
And if we ran far enough and fast enough,
I am sure we would find there all those
who had gone before us, those who left us
for the clouds years ago or weeks ago or days,
and we had cried then and grieved
the thought of never seeing them again, ever.
But now, at last, in these glittering
heights of wonder, we could run to them
and hold them fast, suspend them in our arms
in the heavy shade of giant oaks
floating through the electric afternoon,
and together we would cry again, all of us
crying now, showered with perpetual joy and relief
here in the living, breathing clouds of summer.



One Response to “The Summer Clouds”

  1. Charlene james says:

    Wonderful images throughout. Cheers, char

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