cotton.

I apologize in advance for my over-fascination with clouds. And the sky. And looking up.

I don’t really believe in a “heaven” per say, but I DO tend to talk to those that have passed during sunsets while staring in awe at the always perfectly imperfect sky.

This particular evening the boiling white cotton was a harbinger of an approaching summer cool front. Taking oppressive humidity and absorbing it within, before floating on.

I felt that I could almost reach out, then run into this playground of soft fluff.

  

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