A Cloud Shadow

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By this time in the spring the hillside’s buried green is mostly resurrected: a wide and grassy screen on which is now projected this dark amorphous thing.

Like some untidy blotch a giant Holstein shed from off its hide while grazing— the thought could fill a head straining for some amazing phenomenon to watch.

With the same sight to ponder, another, though, might think how Chinese seers would train rapt eyes on pools of ink to see the future plain. Downcast and slow to wander,

the shadow seems to brood on our attempts to tame it as well as we are able, to pin it down and name it. Drifting, unstable, sable, it shirks similitude.