Driving across the city this afternoon, I was mired in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I didn't mind because of the clouds.
Spring's first thunderstorm rolled through today. Sporadic booms and lightning flashes peppered the afternoon. Globular missiles of rain pelted the ground. I find it intriguing that raindrops have diverse sizes.
I anticipate thunderstorms, even long for them. Unlike many people I know, I've never been frightened by them.
While I sat with an idling engine, I watched a jet liner climb into the sky heading straight for a massive, steel-grey nimbus cloudbank. It was like seeing a sparrow fly into a dragon's gaping maw.
I actually enjoy flying through storms, despite the discomfort of turbulence. I've wished for a long time for some means by which I could make the clouds my home. I love the shape of clouds, their constant fluidity and movement, the endless varieties in which they manifest. I feel a new story coming on.
My brother and I have shared many conversations about the different forms of flying dreams we have. Mine always require that I have a running start for take off. Sometimes in the dreams I'm me, human yet capable of flight, at others I'm a bird. Once I was a swan, in another dream a seagull.
Flying dreams have been among my most profound and I leave them waking into a state of bemused contentment, as if through the dream I've touched something profound.
What do dreams do for you?