Clouds hunting

597.

At last a pic where the moon isn’t in front of the clouds!

*

The clouds were hunting the Sun.

“Where is He?” they asked, “Why isn’t He here?”

They spread themselves across the spangled night,

Galloping up and down, riding the wind,

Sometimes fighting each other

Over who was higher, who was lower,

Who was thinner, who was thicker.

Clouds are not terrifically bright.

And then the Sun’s mirror rose, half hidden.

The clouds mutter, thicken and mob it,

Making a rainstorm, making lightning.

“We’re in charge,” they say, “We decide

What you’ll see.”

~~~