The moon stares at me through a tiny fissure in the sky and I lay still, baffled by its immense grandeur. The stars aren’t performing today, they are taking it slow, allowing all that evaporation do its magic and so the latent talent is displayed, and dear, it’s so risky but the sky will not waver, it will let go and let the viewer be their own judge.
 
The clouds... They move forward in a slow, silent and peaceful rhythm and if one watches their fascinating flow, it is seen that the whole process has a strangely calming effect. Not the giddiness that a twinkling star provideth, no, the clouds have a completely different way of doing show. They aren’t here because they want to brandish their splendor, but because the stars have taken the night off- because no one wants to see a sky full of gray.
 
The moon, on the other hand, stays glimmering, intently rosy in the sky this particular night. It resembles a round, satisfied belly full of warm hope and dulcet flavor after a leisurely feast. The bright white halo around the moon isn’t the only one to see here, there is another thinner lining of a cosmic, peculiar blueon the very brim of it which seems to be unreal from time to time. Looking at it in a three-dimensional perspective, I can imagine there being an entrance to an alternate reality. I can only wish to step into it.
 
The sky itself has flame, one that provides so much more light than any street-lamp or mobile screen. And sitting there, under the shelter of coconut trees in the noble vicinity of an ensemble of crickets, the only brightness I want to adjust is the that of the moon’s. Not my mobile’s. But I needn’t worry, for the ever-sailing clouds do this task for me. Ever so often, there will be a dark, thick trickle of cotton that shadeth the moon and when the exceptional beauty re-appears, the light is almost blinding. These clouds, they suspend the moon in such ferocious filters, the darker ones even more so. I get to see the different sides of the moon. I am glad and grateful.
 
As I watch the sky’s movements and maneuvers, I wonder if we will ever learn to tame the sky like the sea. Will there come a time when Hide and Seek in the clouds would come to be some generation’s favorite childhood game? I look at the perfect disposition and coloring of the sky, the variantly different colors in the sky, so very different- colors that I don’t have names for- and I’d rather not. There is a veering contribution by the very element of mystery in all this exuberance.
 
There are smears of charcoal in the sky that leave the other parts of it in a soft, mellow shade of blue, white, black, and so, so much more. These clouds are gallantly arranged as candid constellations that you won’t see unless you want to, and there is vehement whishingamong the lot of them, though it isn’t meant for our ears, it is meant for the mind and soul. It ricochets in a distant part of my body and I mean to retain it there for if someday I find that I have run out of worldly music to keep me company, I shall turn to this elixirous snippet.
 
I cannot believe how I haven’t seen the beauty in moving clouds; their delicate dance and play of curtaining with the elegant moon herself. It is a magical moment somewhat, one of those moments when the constant ticking of the clock in your head freezes and the only way you can feel yourself age is by each breath that escapes you- but it is as timeless as I, as humans can get. It is a generous, a free source of love, feeling and hope that all bloom at once in your chest and momentarily, you aren’t your name, you aren’t your profession, you aren’t your promises, your passions, your lies, your family- you are just an observer, a nameless someone wandering in someplace, and sometimes, being a stranger to yourself and losing that identity in a forest of the unknown is what it takes for us to realize exactly what it is that we are made of. It is passable for the details to not matter in that place. Who knows when you might actually find yourself up there, hovering upon those spiraling clouds?