They are just clouds. Any scientist can quickly explain their properties and even their names. Just clouds. On an autumn’s winter morning, they transformed within a weary body looking up at snowcapped mountain peaks. But as the wind raked my skin and a tree offered to lock horns beckoning me to sit, somewhere Rumi’s words danced among them. “I see my beauty in you, I become a mirror that cannot close its eyes to your longing.”

Maybe we don’t need more scientists. We need children who can create castles out of a blanket and card table. Maybe we don’t need more laws. We need only the restriction of what will honor another. Maybe we don’t need more oil. We need the balm of compassion that would forever fuel the world. Maybe… Oh well….they were just clouds. But I cannot close my eyes.