How is it the clouds are racing across the sky? They linger a moment, a quiet hush upon the mountains, and then create windbows as they glide like a leaf on a flowing river? The trees are still. No wind to make them dance.
Today, when others, or myself, would define my atMUSTsphere, may I remember this moment of awe. Stillness of trees. Gliding armies of clouds. Playful windbows. Or the softness of the grass looking up and beholding all. To choose where I will dance.