Between the Black and White: Sugary silver

Happiness, remarkably profound

like a traitor,

making this moment smile.

Fortune is like a cat,

no less than humans 

and the world,

I cuddle the cat.


Happy to the extent of confusion, indulgence, sleeplessness. Is it dusk or dawn?

The spring in California has finally reached the sky. The crystal clear sky, with a feather-like, long and slender piece of cloud, smooth without a trace of damage, pointing and ascending into the future. I look for its residual to seek its path, but all are twisted dots and shapes. I would not describe them as grotesque, however. Rather, I find them cute and innocent, bringing a strong and dynamic force that is fresh and powerful. And, sweet, sugary sweet of course, but also thick as honey. 

Yet, the sun was not as calm as the cloud. It is burning, combusting the edge of the cloud, chasing it to spread and to keep away. It tries to bite, to swallow, to taste, to torture, but the cloud is as intact as it is. Its shape changes with every bite and moves from the sun, but it adapts by moving, rotating, flipping and looping. It is an acrobat by heart and a gymnast by body. 

Gradually, the cloud becomes even bigger and stronger. Not only does it cease dodging, it kisses the sun when it bites. I watch as the cloud kisses with a passion that exceeds the strength of Klimt’s kiss, but with the curiosity and fearlessness of adolescence and youth. No wonder why the more youthful clouds, which are whiter and smaller in size, twist and linger more. They are not just brave in my eyes. They are kind, and real too. I have never seen another piece of cloud that is as real as it is now. 

Watching bikers dashing past me, I admire the clouds for being still and steady — resourceful, too, as they have magics of lightning, thunder and storm. I wonder if the sun has ever gotten jealous of the cloud, even just once? 

Pondering, I turn away and walk.

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