The trees seem to laugh at the clouds while yet reaching for them with swaying branches. Trees must think that they are real, rooted, somebody, and that perhaps the clouds are only tickled water which sometimes blocks their sun. But trees are clouds, too .
And what am I but a cloud of thoughts and feelings and aspirations? Do not I put out tentative mists here and there? Do not I occasionally appear to other people as a ridiculous shape of thoughts without my intending to? Do not I Drift Toward The North When I Feel The Breezes of Love and the Warmth of Compass?
IF Clouds Are Beings, And Beings Are Clouds, Are We Not All Well Advised to Drift, To Feel The Wind Tucking US In here?
Drift, let me. Sing to the sky, Will I. One In Many, Are We. Let Us Breathe The Breeze and Find The Roots in The Spirit.
The treetops are lighter, like climbing clouds, as well as laughing at the cloud. The tree is definitely thinking that he is a heavyweight person, and the cloud is only a accumulated water, and only occasionally block the sun's glory. In fact, the tree is also a kind of cloud, is the cloud made by green leaves, is not very much cloud. The tree will grow, change, old, just like the clouds of the sky.
I am not a cloud? A cloud with a variety of ideas, feelings and ambition. I am not trying to do everywhere, is it a mist group? My whimsical days don't always be in front of people in front of a group of strange clouds? When I feel the breeze and mercy of love, I am not a floating cloud that I am driving like a North.
If the cloud is like a person, if people are like floating clouds, we should float, feel the power of the wind, let us take root here, and pull us up and pull away? Don't we really be as stable as you think?
Floating, let me! I want to go to the sky. The passengers in the sea, we are. Let us breathe the breath of the breeze, find the root of our spirit.
