Back in my younger years, I'd look up at the sky.
More specifically, I'd gaze at the clouds and wonder what secrets they held. I believed that the clouds held treasure, secrets, a wonderland, a cornucopia.
Most of all, I imagined that clouds held our dreams.
Clouds are free, unhinged, not drawn in stark lines and shapes, and roam free across the blue canvas of the sky. They are hewn from fine material, in the thinnest filaments and fibres drawn from the loom by unseen hands.
Our dreams are floating, never quite concrete, always seemingly too high for us to reach. They come and go, passing us by with time.
I have a lot of dreams. I don't perceive all of them will ever be fulfilled. But it's important to try.
As the old cliche goes : Reach for the stars (clouds?) and even if you don't make it, you'll still be a long way above the dirt."
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