The world moved much too fast for Aisling’s taste.

Her head rang with its incessant chatter, and each creeping deadline ticked in her ears like a bomb.  And, while every self help book on her shelf encouraged a work-life balance, there was hardly ever time to finish all her work, never mind anything self indulgent or lively.

That is, of course, except for those silent Sunday noons in the park, when the sun shone bright upon the chartreuse stained trees, and the breeze whistled a fine melody through the grass blades at her feet.  It was the single, immortal hour she always managed to carve out of each week, no matter how many assignments she had due or overtimes she worked.  And she always liked to spend it looking at the clouds.

Ah, yes, the billowing clouds! Magnificent stories were crafted by their otherworldly shapes, painted by the universe using only the finest watercolors.  Every week, Aisling watched them float across the sky, a soft smile gracing her expression.  She escaped with her daydreams, carried by the clouds’ marching parade, for that one glorious, voiceless hour.  And in that hour, her soul was finally able to take flight.