Picture Prose- Electric Wires and Cirrus

I look up to see electric wires criss-cross on the cloudy canvas, slashing at cirrus like permanent ink lines, the view from the second floor. 

Twenty nine steps higher and the sky is sliced in half with the crooked slants of rooftops like teeth in a tart. 

It is these sorts of days that the clouds look almost alive, drifting and aimless much like I am, no place of their own. 

But that’s the thing about drifting, it’ll take you places you never knew before. Chances are, one will feel like home.