I watched them soar over the mountain. Their approach filled with longing. Their bodies skimmed the surface of the glass lake without touching. Voices totally silent now. Then their legs descended and they knew migration’s rest. I sat and pondered the morning’s…..
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…..
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