The Clouds

The smoke from chicken wings on the balcony grill is flooding my mouth. The sunset is trying to match the color of the purply-pink flowers dangling off the balcony.

Cars are all quite large if you look at them. Ryan just drove past me in his silver Toyota. He waves.

I wonder how she got up there. The purple?

She was talking to the green trees, and then they introduced her to the blue sky, and, well, the sky introduced her to the clouds. And when the sun came over for wine and cheese that night, the yellow met the pink with the blue.

"So the trees introduced her?"

"Yes, the plum trees."

Fish-scale clouds.

But the ocean is too large to look at all at once. So is the sky. I believe they're cousins.