is such a cliché to describe mood.
I stand at the gate of a ploughed field,
scavenger birds exploit rows of newly turned ground.
Above me a soufflé of clouds with mottled contours;
the common Cumulonimbus like a head of cauliflower,
a rare Undulatus Asperatus like rough furrows.
I light up another cigarette, watch its contrails rise,
wonder if I will ever witness Lenticularis – Pile d’assiettes,
think cloud watching is an acceptable form of doing nothing.
– John Saunders