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Two clouds emerge in an otherwise empty sky.
And In an act of acknowledgment, the salt rich blanket of black beneath churns with a billion caps of white.
The clouds them selves do not direct, but rather spring gleefully and tumble like puppies in a warm basket of towels.
When they finally realize their position, and accept the force that governs everything under there feet, the eyes then focus.
And the two have now become somehow three.

The mirk of the deep, intrigued, decide to embrace the event by shifting the power of their current to a positive and complimentary gesture.
First they flow just off timing for a cycle, then the stutter of their movements smooth to become something more like tremolo.
And their distance from each other lessens.
At last it turns to a form of vibration.
And the mind numbs, and the attention tightens, to an action of muscle memory, and the intrigue fades to response and reflex.
But the distance still continues to erode.
And three become four and salt becomes sky.
Reaching up and touching. Drifting down and mixing everything together until there is nothing left to act upon.
Only the force that drove them to touch can decide on a result of dissipation or storm.
Either result satisfies all who seek the purest form of fear and beauty.
And the duration of this event, long or short, has no authority over the degree of its importance, nor its great effect on the entire world. Similar events as this have occurred in the past, and billions will echo its efforts through the tomorrows, but this bond before me, just as flames from fire, will never repeat and will forever remain uniquely miraculous.
And four become five. And the fifth consumes its self and five become zero.

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