... in Short Stories

Today is warmer than it’s been in a while. The air softens and the clouds gather. But it doesn’t rain. Instead, the clouds form shapes according to their mood. They look at each other with sad faces or they laugh and drift away. Suddenly the clouds remember that they can come down to earth and walk freely among us. They have ideas for works of art. They move their hands in precise patterns as though directing the wind. When they speak, they appear to us as gentle lunatics. And when the white jackets come to take them away, the clouds are already gone.