The ocean clouds are different than those in Minnesota, gliding across the Crayola periwinkle-blue sky. A jet flies through the clouds breaking my near trance, interrupting the sashay movement above me.
I sense a tug, a message telling me that like the airplane my worries zoom around, out of place with how life is intended. Look at how temporary is the shape of a cloud. Moving, changing, shifting forms–more like a dance than a fight.
Isn’t this a lesson about fear and doubt and troubles? My uncertainties are temporary, temporary, temporary. How better to reposition than to shove, to rearrange than to push, to restore than to force.
The plane disappears and I’m back to daydreaming with the curves of the clouds, learning to sway with my afternoon. Only a couple days left till I'm back to where the clouds are more familiar.