Mysteries often solve themselves by finding you.
I awoke one morning to greet an endless array of gray puffs and a barely-there atmosphere peeking between every crevice the puffs would allow it.
It yearned to be seen and appreciated. But today, the stage belonged to the puffs. Still, the sky remained a middle child, aching for love.
The puffs sent a misty drizzle down to the soil and I thought ...