Clouds of Grace

There is a drawing I did as a child of clouds 

round and white,

and then I began to see their silent majesty.

Today, they’re greys and whites, tracked with

tractor tyres and old bones

softened with pastels and sheep’s wool.


They make no sound as they trail across the sky,

quietly changing the heavens 

mirrored in the colours of the ocean and hillside lakes.

In the evening they dim the rainbow with crimson,

gold, orange, yellow with puce,

mixing and mingling, glowing with grace.


Early, they catch the sun’s rays and waken the sleeping

with pretty pinks and hues, 

that brighten a weary world for a morning of peace.


Clouds silent as angels of light float by.

Feathered birds flying over the seas,

Towering mountains. Roiling, night black on the horizon.


Howling winds rage and they learn to race,

blackening the skies,

torn by sun bright lightening,  shaking the world with storms.


Clouds bringing drizzling days, heavy and lowering, 

soaking the thirsty earth.

so many shapes and strange stories from afar.


A snowflake is unique in its birthing,

as singular are clouds.

We change as we watch them for Grace is there.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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