They are the only ones who recognize me. I am the only one who recognizes them. Three lost clouds with lost ideologies and bellowing curves like mine. Three who do not feel peaceful at home. Three shifty clouds created by gods will. From my view, I can see it, but Nonna doesn’t appreciate these things.
Their strength is kept hidden. They send ferocious spindles of energy across the sky. They flow left and they flow right. They observe the earth and own the sky. They never quit their ambition. This is how they flow.
Let one forget their reason for being and they’d all drop and rid the earth from seeing, Three clouds; one soul. Inch, by inch, by inch they meander across their domain. They observe.
When I am too heavy and too gray to keep flowing, when I am a tiny, white ball of cotton against the raging storms, then it is I that looks towards my kin. They tell me to let go, to drop my weight, to let the rain wash away. Three who joined despite strong storms. Three who flow and do not forget to flow. Three whose only goal is to live and be free.