Clouds
He always had that passion since I can remember.
I remember walks in the small tourist airport in my city where only small propeller planes took off.
The path around was about three kilometers.
We walked it calmly, and often he'd stop to take photos of them.
The clouds.
I couldn't understand what he saw in them. They just seemed white marks on a light blue sky,
left there by some painter, too distracted or lazy to finish his painting.
Only when I looked at his photographs I understood what he saw.
He could always transform the sky into a piece.
They were no more clouds.
They were his clouds.
2020-02-08
