We get a lot of clouds here. (Maybe that’s just normal? Are there always lots of clouds everywhere? Surely not; surely there are some places that see clouds so rarely it’s an event. Regardless, clouds are a regular feature in our part of the world.) We get an especially good view of them because of where we sit on the corner of our block, facing out towards the wooded area that leads to the Mersey. Our main floor is one up from ground level, and the bedrooms are up again, so that clouds feature more prominently than they probably would if we were eye-to-eye with the street.
Sometimes the clouds are a single unit: a uniform gray sheet. Sometimes, they’re full of wispiness and color. Sometimes they’re bulky and picturesque and deliciously solid, as if they were made of marshmallows.
I’m glad we can see them. I like watching them float around. I appreciate when they’re gone (because sun! Because stars!) but I love them when they’re here. There’s something romantic about a cloudy day.