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The Painting

Boats of white fluff move across the dome. Sometimes! They even move across the sphere. Blocking us of its light. Shielding us from its heat. Such vexatious things. Can't they leave the sphere alone? And leave the dome with its simple blue. Gorgeous simplicity.
Yet.
I watch these boats of fluff move.
And wonder.
What if we could travel on such a boat. If we could see the world. Traveling across a boat of sky-fluff. With the heat of a golden sphere on our back. Watching the world spin. Watching our lives go by. They go by so slowly. So, what if we could travel on such a boat? Over the wakeful world. Over the pivoting planet. A boat of sky-fluff at our feet. A ray of gold on our backs. A seed of imagination planted in our minds.
As the seed grows I begin to see images on the canvas of the dome. The boats turn to pictures. Streaks of white paint lie on the blue of the sky. There! The elephant floats and there the horse. Here, a dragon moves and there a house beings to show.
In my observation of the dome above I had forgotten the horizon. Now the true beauty of the canvas arrives. Along the white and blue comes streaks of pink and purple, orange and gold. So I step back. Looking at the painting before my eyes. The painting in the skies.

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