The clouds they are a visible mass composed of ice crystals or microscopic water droplets suspended in the atmosphere, but they are much more than that. They are mutant forms that hydrate the imagination and the earth. Lying on the grass, we search for hidden messages or familiar images; a noble way to procrastinate and connect intimately with the environment.
The colors and shapes of the clouds change, leaving in their wake the invisible traces of time. They frame and unframe the sky constantly; So every day is different. And in that novelty, the exercise of observing its majestic forms is inexhaustible.
For city life, taking a short break to look at the clouds can be very significant. It is a moment to feel the body outside the dictatorship of immediacy. For this reason, today we want to share some texts to help you cultivate this activity but, above all, to lend you the eyes of other people. With them you may find things in the sky that you have never seen, and in that surprise there is the possibility of changing the perception you have of clouds and the relationship you have with nature.
F.C. Lewis
Jorge Luis Borges, «Clouds»
There will not be a single thing that is not
a cloud. are the cathedrals
of vast stone and biblical crystals
that time will smooth It is the Odyssey
that changes like the sea something is different
every time we open it. The reflection
your face is already another in the mirror
and the day is a doubtful labyrinth.
We are the ones who leave. the numerous
cloud that dissolves in the west
is our image. Unceasingly
the rose becomes another rose.
You are cloud, you are sea, you are oblivion.
You are also what you have lost.
shauntan
Virginia Woolf, fragments of Waves
There were the floating gray clouds and the nailed tree, the unforgiving tree with its chiseled silver bark. The bubbling of my life was fruitless. I couldn’t get to the other side.
He dispels the clouds of dust that stir in my trembling, ignominiously agitated spirit, and the memory of the dances around the Easter Tree of paper-wrapped presents.
It would seem that the entire world was made of floating curved lines: the trees on the ground and the clouds in the sky. Through the branches of the trees I contemplate the sky. It seems that the game was being played up there. Dimly, among the soft white clouds, I hear the cry of: «Run!» or «Arbitrage!». The clouds seem to lose locks of whiteness as the breeze ruffles them. If that blue could last forever, if that gap between the clouds could last forever, if this moment could last forever…
I take the trees and the clouds as witnesses of my complete integration. …
Bruce Levine, «Clouds»
clouds
drifting across the sky
in imaginary forms
clouds
making imaginary pictures
that only the mind
can put together
clouds
of varying shades
and shapes
clouds
metamorphosing
clouds
morphing
into the unknown
clouds
metamorphosed
clouds
floating
like the Goodyear blimp
off on the horizon
clouds
lost
shapeless
meeting
and reforming
clouds
like foam on the ocean
endless and everlasting
but empty in their
subtlety
clouds
like cotton candy
pink then white
shifting shades
of gray
clouds
filled with rain
or as
ephemeral
as infinity
ethereal
everlasting
Goethe, fragment of the game of heaven
Everything continued the same until dawn. The entire sky was covered in clouds isolated, which brushed against each other, and of which one part dissolved in the upper layer of the atmosphere, while the other fell so bristly and ashen that at every moment we expected to see it fall in the form of rain.
Gabriela Mistral, «The Peacock»
That the wind blew and took away the clouds
and that in the clouds was a peacock,
that the peacock was for my hand
and that my hand is going to dry up,
and that I gave him my hand this morning
to the king who came to marry.
Oh the sky, oh the wind, and the cloud
that they leave with the peacock!
Keep reading: 5 poems to connect with the spirit of the trees and the forest
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