As a kid I thought of clouds as cotton, and that one could simply jump out of a plane and land softly into them. Images of small babies with wings, halo, and harps sitting on clouds while smiling are vivid. At that age those images were real. And now as I have grown older I still think of the perfection of clouds, their placement hanging in abeyance betwixt cycles, awaiting the change in temperature.
I often think as the cloud would think knowing well my role, my placement, my often temporary state of suspension. While that time is comforting, I am son of Issachar well aware of shifting before it happens. And regardless of where I shift to, the next state is only a movement within my element.