They are up there, so far removed, following the ways of wind and mist. Billow and wisp, streak and waffle, puff and thunderhead slide across each other on different planes, above and below but also existing all at once, together and separate within the endless blue.   It is a blue that’s been often painted, and described, and sung by lofty voices but that cannot be replicated so easily in tint, or word, or note. These clumsy attempts only dance around the pureness of azure