I’ve always been fascinated by clouds. From a very young age, I would spend hours gazing upward, watching them drift slowly across the sky. Over time, I came to recognize their different forms—cumulonimbus, nimbostratus, cirrus—each with its own mood, its own quiet personality.
A few years ago, I lived in an apartment fourteen floors up, with an uninterrupted view of the foothills. From the wide windows, I’d sit and watch the clouds arrive and depart, much like thoughts moving through my mind—forming, shifting, and gently dissolving.
There was something deeply soothing in that ritual. The slow choreography of the sky asked nothing of me, offered no urgency. Watching the clouds became my meditation—a reminder that not every thought needs to be held, and not every moment needs to be filled.
