It was a beautiful day on the island, made all the more beautiful by white fluffy things floating through the ink-blue sky.
“Are these air-sheep?”, I asked the farmer in the field, for who would know more about animals, land- or airborne, than someone who milked and killed them for a living.
“No,” he said, as if talking to a city guy who knew nothing about that, by which he may have been right.
“These are clouds,” he explained, which didn’t explain anything.
“They are beautiful,” I said, to which he shrugged his shoulders.
I think he was one of those people who aren’t interested in what can neither be eaten, nor counted towards the gross domestic product.
I, on the other hand, am an adventurous aestheticist, and thus, I climbed up the steep volcano which is the center, the foundation and the peak of the island, to get closer to the clouds.
Well, I did get very close. Actually, I climbed straight into the clouds. They were cold, windy and wet.
Maybe clouds, like humans and other things, are best admired from afar.