Minutes to Midnight

You ever watch the clouds pass by, not like sheep, like how everyone else sees them, but as pieces of crumpled paper, tumbling like tumbleweeds at a western, and realize that every molecule of that puffy marshmallow in the blue is a day, or a word, condensed in such a miraculous of a form? Think of this book as a cloud, segmented into months, and weeks, and days, and words all culminating in a big puffy cloud, waiting 'til the clock strikes noon before letting down its cleansing rain.