Together in the Clouds

Chapter 1

Most people think cumulus nimbus are the best cloud-watching clouds, but Dad and I prefer cirrus spissatus. If you ask me, the whole cumulus family of clouds are too obvious. It's like they shout danger when anyone can tell they mean trouble at first glance.

But cirrus spissatus are hypnotic. They promise mystery and hope: a thin veil between earth and heaven that might dissolve at any moment. We most often see Mom in the long thin cover of the cirrus spissatus clouds. We search her out every day. It's like a contest to see who can find her first. Maybe her face is our good luck charm or the act of looking is our prayer to the coming day.

When I was little Dad used to beat me to her, but now I find her first. When I do, when I point her out in some distant cloud formation, he sighs and, with a dreamy distant look in his eyes, says: "She's the most beautiful woman in the world."

And not until then, not until one of us sees her face in the clouds, do we start our day.

I lie back in the sun with my hands behind my head and scan the sky above me while Tuff dozes in a patch of dappled sunlight further up the slope. The leaves overhead sift the sunlight across his body in a trembling pattern. His legs jerk slightly and I wonder if he's chasing a dream squirrel or a rabbit or maybe a racoon. There're so many critters to chase and new places to explore in the ravine. I don't think he misses the boat at all. But I do. I miss the slap of the waves on the hull and rocking in a half-doze on the glinting sea. I miss Dad too. But nevermind.

I slip the last soda cracker into my mouth and chase it with a mouthful of water from the Tropicana jug. Then I empty the crumbs from the plastic sleeve into the palm of my hand and eat those too. I expect the rustling to wake up Tuff, but he's oblivious to me, and whining in his sleep.

When I finish scouring the northern horizon, I let my eyes drift east. I split the sky into quadrants and search for her that way. North, east, west, and last of all south. Dad prefers to let his eyes wander across the sky randomly, following her clues from thought to thought. But my way's faster.

"There she is, Tuff," I point out her face near the edge of the eastern horizon, beyond the overpass. "She's smiling today and her hair is streaming in the wind. She sure looks beautiful." I say it for Dad and then stand up.

Finally Tuff raises his head and assesses me from his patch of sunshine and green grass.

"Well, c'mon. Up you get. We can't lie around here all day. We've got stuff to do."

Tuff devours a bowl of kibble while I pack the tent and zipper it closed. Then I pull the branches over the front door until it's completely hidden. It would take a psychic, or maybe a US Marine, to find our camp site.

I pat my front pocket to be sure I have my phone and my charger. Then check for the lump in my pocket which is a small fold of twenty-dollar bills and the credit card.

"Everything's in order. Let's go!"

I swing my daypack onto my back and push through a thick stand of brush. Tuff follows me out to the trail and up the side of the ravine, sniffing at every stock of grass and tree trunk like he's met them all before and has to say hello to a long-lost friend.

"Don't get too used to living on land."

Tuff tilts his head and barks once.

"Of course, I'll always take you for walks so you can chase squirrels."

As if to demonstrate his joy, Tuff races up the side of the ravine and stops at the base of a stately maple tree. He stares into the branches and dances around the trunk, trying to get a sight-line on whatever he chased up there. When I get too far ahead, he abandons the tree and runs to catch up.