terrypetersen

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now,
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall.
I really don’t know clouds at all.  (Joni Mitchell)

As I drive on this cloudy morning I recall a teacher telling me that when I wrote in the clouds my writing was wonderful, but my term paper outline needed revision. She may have been onto something. I am enamored by the beauty of white and gray shapes spread across the blue. They are the catalyst for some great writing ideas. Unfortunately I turn right far too early and realize it two minutes down the road. I arrive a few minutes late for critique group.

Dictionary.com defines a cloud as a visible collection of particles of water or ice suspended in the air, usually at an elevation above the earth’s surface. While those particles can be beautiful, they don’t help my navigational skills.

They do help my spirit. A blue sky has a heavenly feel. And when it touches the trees, lake, Canada geese, summer flowers, the blend feels harmonious. It is easy to feel at one with the world. Then come the construction zones, the exhaust-stained city streets, garbage in the road, and broken glass from the last traffic accident. The sweet horizon doesn’t seem to fit the ugliness.

I want to climb into a plane and travel, watch the earth from the window. From the air the suspended ice particles look clean, fresh. The scenes below appear neat, organized into squares, rectangles and circles.

However, neither the faraway blue sky nor idealized earth have much to do with everyday reality. It is not until I sit with my father at his nursing home that the faraway and present find an unexpected meeting place.

Dad dozes and has difficulty knowing where he is when he wakes up. I speak softly and ask if he ever feels the presence of my mother.

“Yes. Sometimes, she is right here. And sometimes she is far away.”

I look to one wall. There isn’t enough space for a person, but her spirit wouldn’t need much room. “I think she is here all the time.”

He nods.

“You know? When I got married I never understood how people had a hard time making commitments. I took it for granted. I had such a good example.”

He smiles, a little more relaxed than he was before. Oh, he still hurts. The broken-glass feeling of being in a ninety-one-year-old failing body is still there. But, I suspect Mom really is close by, and a little blue sky and white cloud has sneaked into the room.