The wheels of my bike hum beneath me,
A steady rhythm,
The path unwinds like a thread of thought.
With every pedal, I feel lighter and freer,
Drawn to the sky where clouds are caught.
The clouds arrive, soft, fluffy and fleeting,
A canvas painted by unseen hands.
They drift as whispers across the heavens,
Bridging earth with celestial lands.
Veiled in their folds, a quiet knowing,
Secrets of worlds we cannot see.
A mist of mystery, ever-changing,
Yet carrying truths that set us free.
Some clouds cradle rain, life a sacred blessing,
Quenching the thirst of weary soil.
Others shadow with solemn warning,
Lessons born from struggle and toil.
They rise above, untamed, unbound,
A symbol of the spirit’s fight.
To see beyond their fleeting forms is to glimpse eternity in light.
Transient as thoughts, they come and go,
Teaching us of life’s gentle art:
To let it flow, to let it fade,
And trust the clearing of the heart.
So let us stand and gaze in wonder,
At these angelic messengers, low and high,
For in their dance, the soul remembers
Its kinship with the endless sky
