Today is a beautiful day. The clouds in the LA basin are fantastic, huge, billowing masses of freshness with lots of white fluffiness. I remember spending childhood hours daydreaming and watching these kinds of clouds on Chautauqua Lake in southwestern New York state.
One strange but memorable day, I lay on my back with my little brothers and a ward of my grandmother named, Larry. It was summertime and the lake was choked with sea weeds so we couldn't swim. We had a television, but no reception. My older brothers had a boat, but we were too young to take it out by ourselves. It seemed that there was no where to go and nothing to do, so we looked at bugs and finally looked at the sky.
For a short time, we rose above the earth and floated on big, puffy ships, or rode rapidly disintegrating dragons, or found friendly angels flitting from one small cloud to another. I felt very close to the boys. We all shared a transcendent hour or so before flopping back to earth and giving in to our hunger pangs, itches and crankiness.
Clouds and lakes bring that magic back and I feel closeness, even when I'm alone.