I climbed to the top of lighthouse, stood perilously on the protective railing and shook my fist at the approaching storm. I shouted her name three times at the top of my voice. Once in frustration, once in painful longing and once just to hear myself scream.
A passing cloud stopped for a moment and called me a ninny and encouraged me to jump.
“After all,” it breezed, “a man in your condition has no right being a man at all.”
I sneered at the cloud and asked why he should know. He was, after all, a cloud and had no experience with matters of the heart. I spit to the jagged rocks below.
“I have no control over my own path,” said the cloud, much less the path of another cloud. To think that I do, would simply be rubbish.”
The cloud puffed, blowing me off my balance. At first I resisted and then, figuring the cloud was right, I held out my arms and leapt from the railing.
As I fell, the clouds parted and the suns rays shown strongly on the rocks below, creating the most beautiful haloed images and shadow. I started to cry. Just before I met my fate on the sharp and fragmented rocks below, the suns rays caught me and cradled me in their warmth, slowing my decent and placing me on flat patch of stone, the water lapping at my feet in relief.
I stared at the sun and thanked her profusely, “what might I do to repay my debt of gratitude?”
The sun winked at me and said, “Quit being a ninny, and never, ever listen to a cloud.