Creamy splotches of white splatter the bright sky 

Slowly they pool at the bottom of deep atmospheric gullies 

Over time they form into soft, pale clay

They get worked and played with by unknown hands 

Someone? Something? 

The wind and the messages it carries? 

Perhaps how the grass is looking? 

Or the song and dance of the people below? 

In the sky, shapes of white 

A dog. A cat. 

A Time. A place 

An invitation you can’t deny.