The Loneliest Road

Cornflower Eyes was born in the spring. It was a clear bright day, the sun was shining and the sky was clear except for some vague clouds that drifted high above the town. His father had pointed to them as they walked out of the door of their house.
‘You see them,’ his father said, kneeling beside him. ‘They’re called cirrus. They’re very high. They’re like wisps of smoke. Do you know what cirrus means?’
He had looked at him as though he might, and the small boy flushed.
‘It means a tuft of hair in Latin. That’s what they are.’ His eyes gazed up into the cerulean vastness of the Nevada sky. ‘Wisps of God’s hair. The hair of angels’.