I am a cloud. I am not a very noticeable one, not impressive, nor unusual though I still have my own things to offer. Tears become rain, and rain becomes nourishment for the flowers below. But it does not matter much, for all clouds do that. I am just another one amongst the crowd. I watch things – people, animals, plants – as I drift across the vast sky. But they don’t notice me. Of course they don’t, not the elderly couple walking through the park, nor the squirrels who play in the scarlet Autumn leaves, and even less so the trees or the sweet-smelling Nemesia flowers. There is no use for me now because it is neither hot nor dry outdoors, and everyone is content. I am not needed. I am not here. I am not noticed because I am a cloud.
Atlas likes music and reading sci-fi.
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