Every day I look at clouds. They sail into sight like birds but they don’t fly. They move freely and still they cannot sit, not even a brief moment. Sometimes, they will leave a deep shadow and make me shiver. They belong to earth, yet they are in the sky. When the sky is blue and without a cloud I feel somewhat uneasy. The horizon is too far and the sky seems empty. A cloudless sky looks as if nature were banished from the universe. On other days, when everything is grey in grey and all the clouds available have given up their singular existence to form a heavy bed cover for the world I rather stay indoors and use the car if I have to leave the house. So that there is a three-dimensional shelter against the  flatness of grey. Clouds well up from somewhere, they appear in uncountable numbers and forms at all times. Suddenly they arise from the forest or billow up behind the high rises in the distance. Nothing is as changeable as a cloud but if you get near it dissolves into water and mist.

Today, voluminous spring clouds float along  and  I would like to trust them some words to carry along, let’s say, to a friend some hundred miles to the East. But those clouds won’t take my messages, they move on wordlessly.