Number 16: cloud
Grey days make me gloomy, when I'm feeling unimaginative. But when I'm awake enough to pay attention - after the second cup of coffee, say - cloud is something to pay attention to.
Not flat grey after all. Layers of dove-colours like the dreams of mountains, fading into a greater distance. Grey upon grey upon grey like the draping of careful sleeves. There are paths, if you look. You can travel the cloud and walk through a quieter world, soft and pale and silent. You can close your eyes, and dream the dreams of mountains.
Close your eyes. Walk through the mist. And step onto the faint and grey path of a cloud-mountain, a dream-mountain, trailing layers of pale sleeves behind you.
Not flat grey after all. Layers of dove-colours like the dreams of mountains, fading into a greater distance. Grey upon grey upon grey like the draping of careful sleeves. There are paths, if you look. You can travel the cloud and walk through a quieter world, soft and pale and silent. You can close your eyes, and dream the dreams of mountains.
Close your eyes. Walk through the mist. And step onto the faint and grey path of a cloud-mountain, a dream-mountain, trailing layers of pale sleeves behind you.