Cold. Clear. Carlessly blue. Memories of clouds are brought along. Low flying cirrus look strange down here. Alaskan skies have come south for the winter.
They let their winds ruffle in the water - how strange that must feel. And they whistle through branches - oh, what a blast! Oooohooo! Wheeeee! They probably think that they’ll soon go back. But they’ll be just like me. They won’t go back.
