Claude had this thing about huge fluffy cloud formations on the horizon. “It’s silly,” he said, “but whenever someone I know is dying there’s always a huge fluffy cloud formation on the horizon. It’s as if angels with a golden chariot are hidden in the cloud and are coming to take the dying person away. Of course, it’s only my imagination and I doubtless notice it only when someone is dying, for it’s probably there most days.”
Claude remembered when his father was dying many years ago, and a huge fluffy cloud formation appeared on the horizon. He remembered when his mother was dying, again many years ago, and a cloud formation more majestic than fluffy, appeared on the horizon. He remembered when his wife was dying and a great evening red and gold cloud formation appeared with shafts of beatific sunlight.
Claude was now 78. Last evening he saw the most stunning cloud formation appear on the horizon. It was so beautiful he took a photo.
I cannot love the sky
until I know the scientific names for all the clouds.
Look! how dramatic is Cumulonimbus!
I cannot love the garden
until I know the scientific names for all the flowers.
Oh! such lovely Lobularia maritima!
I cannot love the song
until I know the scientific names for all the birds.
Hark! to the rapture of that Turdus philomelos!
I cannot love reflections in the water
until I’ve checked for giardia,
those anaerobic flagellated protozoan parasites of the phylum Sarcomastigophora.
I cannot love you
until I have dissected your opinions
tested your resolve
verified your good faith
and checked that you don’t have a Daucus carota stuffed up your Sphincter ani externus
like some overcharged know-all who