Soft fingers, white as the snow they sprinkle like glitter across
The earth and sea.
Yet dark against the sunset sky,
And soaring toward us with the speed of a country breeze.
They flee from the descending light, that illuminates the sky in a gaze like eyes closing; as their lids fall, darkness overtakes the sky, and pulses against the vibrant rays
of the retreating sun.
Then, the soft fingers are gone;
like a droplet of water in a tub of blood,  they are camouflaged, a magic trick of the heavens, our eyes drawn to the main act, while they float in careless leisure.
But when the sun yawns her way awake again, they are beautiful creatures,
whipping and howling their fury as the rain,
and forming pictures  to decifer when the sky is blue and clear.
And so they will continue, an endless trek across a desert of blue, darkening and lightening until the end of days.
        
Watchful, radiant, and immortal they remain.