NOTHING

The clouds have been teasing me this summer.

Every time I think that I've seen them at the most spectacular that they're likely to offer, and I resolve to stop pulling up the car and running off yet more pictures, I spot another wondrous display and our merry dance continues for another day.

Then, of course, because I am who I am, it rapidly develops into a habit, and, before you know it, I'm getting disappointed when I pull up, look at the sky, and find that there's nothing being offered.

Okay, that's simply not true.

Even at its most mundane and overcast, the sky always has something miraculous to offer, but sometimes those little Brownian dances don't make for the most interesting of snapshots.

But that's okay, really.

Sometimes I've got nothing to offer myself, either, when I ought to have something, and that's kind of weird, too…

Soon, I'll be driving to work in the dark, and the cold, and the ice, and the sky will be little more than a dark backdrop to the dreariness of the commute, and a counterpoint to the wintry audiobooks of choice, and I will probably forget all about my daily free-show of being able to watch the sky dancing, and look in my files and wonder why on earth I was taking all of those pictures of nothing but those flippin' clouds.

Which is why I need to try and remember…

Remember how damned impressive they were.

Remember why they made me stop and look in the first place.

Remember how they changed in an instant into something even more wonderful.

Remember that each of these moments was unique and will never occur again in quite the same way until the end of time, and had never happened before in all of the billions of years that this planet has been spinning around our tiny yellow sun.

Remember I was there the see them, in that spot, at that very moment, and that moment only belonged to me...