About Clouds

Today's muse: My writing class with Richard Scarsbrook

I was sifting through some papers and came across my notes from Richard's writing class. I don't recall what the prompt was, but I'm sure it had something to do with a childhood memory. This is one of mine.

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About Clouds

Five hours. That’s how long it took to drive from our home in Schomberg to the family cottage in Sudbury. Five. Long. Hours.

Mom did her best to keep us entertained. We sang songs and played games. Dad—he just drove; did his best to block out our noise.

The best part, the part I remember most, was when Mom got bored or tired; probably both. I’d sit back in my seat, and stare out the window at the clouds. Shapes formed as we sped along the highway, morphing from a house, to a cat, then a piano. As each image appeared, I wrote stories in my head, created a storyboard of white fluff, with cotton candy characters.

The drive up north hasn’t changed much. It’s still five long hours. But I’m the driver now and I can’t sit back and stare out the window while I write fanciful stories in my head.

Keep your eyes on the road, they say.

The road is hard, I reply, and I want to dream with the clouds.