The clouds outshine the sun today. They have somehow managed to rise from their floating thrones and to share their crown with us. There’s a splash of brightness in the air, but I am convinced it is not the sun; it is the clouds. And as the day looms with the kind of gloominess that gives off fatigue, I cannot help but wonder how many of us search ourselves in the shadows. In places where we are left with the ambiguity of image, and grow like a silhouette of flesh. Sometimes writing is gloomy like these clouds, light enough to swing suspended in the air but with rain drops too heavy to see. Illuminated, and yet barely understood. But the clouds outshine the sun today and inspiring writers have managed to reach the ground and nourish souls with their words. Writers, who emerge from behind obscurities like clouds, have come down from heaven to purify the air and make footstools of the soil, that their readers may eat.