This writing is the morning clouds. Anchored by the absence of an anchor, endless particles of the great gray mass play a morphing game. Their micro-encounters with something, which I cannot see, inspires distinct shapes as they morph into grayish-white islands against the vast blue background.
Their islandness is only transitory, as they either remorph into a dense mass of overcast clouds, or they simply disappear giving way to the blueness that delimits our space-wandering bubble. Wilderness is the blue of the sun’s light scattered by unaccounted particles floating in the atmosphere.
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Eden and the Willow Team
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