Ugly Clumps

Jeffry lay in the park, near the top of the sledding hill, watching the clouds float through the sky. He was having trouble seeing anything but blobs of puffy whiteness. His mind wandered to childhood and he remembered seeing many shapes and characters in the marshmallows of the atmosphere. This thought made him wonder if any of those had been true or if he had simply wanted to see what he saw, willing his mind to find the secrets even though they were not there.

It was both alarming and comforting to think that he could trick himself so easily, be so willing to enter into an agreement that he would find what he wanted to find. Along the time of growing up, it seemed that he had lost this skill, or defect. He was not sure which side of the argument he would want to land on. For the moment he would have to be content with what he had: a serious of ugly clumps heading nowhere at all.