In the sinews between the light, I, nose-twitching-in-a-slightly-too-refined-air mostly turn away from, exist dervishly ubiquitous spaces of dark, dancing whorls.Sometimes welcoming, sometimes foreboding. Always, angry clouds, they swirl and churn, in, on themselves, as they should.
I've allowed myself to notice them again, more consistently, less shyly than I have in a long while. It seems easier ,if I allow myself to think about imbibing ingenious man-made formulations, synthesised dangerously from uncovering the natural laws of the Plant kingdom.
I used to love dropping the dregs of my coffee into a clear container of water, and watch the mushrooming whorls, a microcosm of a nuclear cloud. Fission and fusion