Battle of the Clouds

Their stallions in full gallop across the sky landscape,
the cloud armies clash in battle; soldiers locking weapons
with a silent clang. Their strength and vigor catapults the
warriors into artistic Cirque de Soleil somersaults sending
them helter-skelter beyond oblivion.

Leading a second charge, a column of white-plumed
horsemen, lances raised, urge their mounts forward, but
the cavalry disbands as quickly as it had formed; horses
morphing into unicorns and winged dragons as they gradually fade.
The battle rages: fierce, fast and furious. At the head
of the fray, Wind, the general, commands his troops to advance.
Breaking apart, the cloud battalions bleed away.

Then, a phalanx of elephant troops march in rumba rhythm, left to
right, toward the edge of creation; shields and helmets
gleaming in the sun. A blink and they are transformed. In
their stead, a line of archers stand firm. In perfect unison they
release their arrows which sail upward and ever upward,
unleashing a geyser-gush to rival Old Faithful in Yellowstone
park. The fountain explodes: cloud fragments drip earthward
with the grace of a weeping willow.

One by one, fallen braves tumble like down pillows on a
to become a magnificent, snow-capped mountain—
a Denali—while prisoners become a great white wall of boulders
waiting to be whisked away.

Now, a calm permeates the cosmic battlefield. West winds
whoosh the remaining renegades into swirling mist while
their steeds dissolve into pink and purple pools.
The battle of the clouds vanishes into vapor and blueness.

Belle Schmidt
10/2/09

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