Clouds parade across the sky. They are thin and long, like bones, like a half-memory of something long lost but not entirely forgotten, of something wild and unkempt. They are unknowable, far away and unreachable to those of us bound by body and mind.
Beyond the hills there’s orange and lots of yellows, copper and bronze – not just a streak of it but an entire winterbook of colours with the last page on the horizon worn with time to the colours of soft brown.
You stand here and witness it all. You’re small and very, very humble. And you make a promise to yourself to do good and though just a sparkling in the universe, try quietly and sincerely to contribute beauty and goodness, in however small a way, to this ineffable thing called life.