I had a strange imagination, growing up. I guess all kids have some things that they just think of a little differently. On road trips, while watching the sky go by out the window, I used to watch the clouds and think that my Grandpa Fritts was sitting on the biggest and puffiest of them all, looking down on me. I guess it was my way of getting to know him, since I don't really remember him. (I also used to pretend there was someone living underneath the eucalyptus tree outside my bedroom window. I'm beginning to sense a theme here.)
The clouds have recently been capturing my attention again. I'm unsure if they are exceptionally beautiful lately, or I just haven't been giving them the credit they are due. The sky seems to have an ethereal texture, kind of takes my breath away every time I look out the window. The clouds hold on to the sun's light and turn it in to that cliche of painted light.
I'm frustrated, because it seems to be one of those instances where I am unable to capture the moment they way it is happening in front of me. The picture is never quite as beautiful as real life. But then, what is ever as beautiful as what you have in front of you. That is one of the things we tend to forget, to be in the moment and be grateful for what you have. Lesson learned.
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