He floats as quickly as he is able,
mindful of the gusts of wind
that may send him whisking off-course
into larger and more formidable clouds.
He is but a small cloud, newly created,
and ever so conscious of
the state of his vapor
so fragile and easily broken
by some cumulus with a grudge.
He wanders quietly forward,
laughing at the birds
as they duck to avoid his precipitation
wanting nothing to do with wet wings in flight.
He floats, he glides, he meanders,
but always he is pushing on.
To new vitas, new realms,
new adventures, to be exploring
as he looks for a parched place in need of rain.