Found on an older blog and posted here for historical purposes.
they looked up together. the sky seemed bigger now somehow, especially the clouds. especially compared to the hill under them.
he had his arm around her and she felt good against him, but he was looking too far up, and starting to lose his balance.
the sky was full of clouds, the fluffy kind, not the whispy dream ones. the kind of cloud that looks like whatever you want it to. the kind of cloud that you could dance on if you could only jump high enough.
there was one especially, a dark brooding one, that he couldn’t help looking at. it reminded him of a person, it was a grumpy cloud.
eventually it got cold and they walked home, his goose was all aflesh and so was her’s. he offered her his coat but it was thin, and didn’t really protect anything from the world.
when they got home he tried to write her a poem. he wanted to tell her how beautiful it had been on the hill. he wanted to tell her about what it was like to feel her prickled flesh in his hand. he wanted to tell her that she was more beautiful than he ever could have imagined anything to be.
but his poem was all about the cloud. the big one. the grumpy one.
