The Clouds

She leaps from the water, great white plumes of water surging from the surface, streaming along her hair until they cascade, drip by drip, back towards the sea. Her back arches and her eyelids flutter as she lands on a soft mattress. Beside her, a lion lifts its head, its mouth frozen in an eternal roar, its shaggy mane tousled in the breeze. Beside him, broad wisps of whipped cream encircle a deep blue jello. Why do we fly? Why do we look to the sky? It is not the lifeless clouds which entice us, but simply our magnificent imaginations.