They weren't full of water by any means. They didn't seem to even have air inside them. They trounced or staggered toward the sunrise, like an inebriated band after a long night of partying. None of them were paired off and so they went home to sleep off the cares. I don't know if they really partied last night, those clouds. Clouds have a way of always looking a bit tipsy. It might have been my lack of caffeine that tilted my judgment about these beauteous wonders of the Huntersville skyline, or it might just be my vivid imagination at work again. It was bound to be an on again off again cloudy interactive day.
The night clouds are making a ruckus, perhaps castigating their inebriated young-uns for their last night's romp, I imagine. Anyway, Helen whispered to me, Sing the "Blind man song" so I did. We giggled that she knows the blind man song to me and I know that the blind man song doesn't have blind man in it, it is just the wrong way that I sing it. I just can't help, falling in love with you. Blind men stay, It's not blind men, it's wise men stay, only fools rush in. As soon as I said it, I started laughing that Helen and I would be singing that song together. She can see stuff, she never could and I can't see things that I should see. That is why we are friends. Well after we laughed for a while about whether it was blind or wise to be wise or blind, we ended the song and we knew that we weren't singing it to each-other, but for eachother to converse on the dark concourse of life, between time and eternity. The things tha-t entertain earthlings so much is funny to those enjoying the completion of their course. I can't find my backhand, I tell Helen. She is singing to me to help me find it. Maybe if I laugh it will come back to me.
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