The Clouds
One day we had an argument about the clouds. Some of us believed that since we could see them, we must be able to touch them. Others thought our hands would pass through them like a ghost. We decided to build a ladder that would reach the sky. We wanted to build it quickly because we were eager for answers, so we took a stretch of railroad track and tried to tip it into the air. Hundreds of us heaved and hauled and cursed but it would not budge. An old woman offered us a small stone from her garden, but we paid her no mind as we pushed and grunted and groaned. Meanwhile the woman began stacking her stones in a neat little pile, and each day she added a few more. When she ran out of stones, she used anything she could find that would help carry her into the sky, and one day she climbed her staircase of stones, bricks, soup cans, car parts, and milk bottles, and when she returned, she said the clouds were more beautiful than we could ever imagine.
Moving onwards and upwards cannot be achieved by force. It requires modesty, flexibility, and a gentle approach. Consider how small actions can develop a foundation for long-lasting strength.
(Tonight while driving on 95 in Philly the clouds in the sky were the most outrageously gorgeous I can ever remember having seen. One looked like The Nothing from The Neverending Story as it approaches and wipes out all of Fantasia. The difference tonight was that these clouds seemed full of joy and life. Others reminded me of an old painting in an art museum, perhaps a Rembrandt, or one of Bob Ross' majestic displays, sharply outlined around the full fluffed edges, with sunlight just behind them, then smudged and wistful as they disappeared into the land.)
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