“What is a cloud?” a little girl once asked me.

“Is it a puff of cotton?” she inquired.

“Why yes!” I told her.
“Don’t make God mad, or he’ll squeeze it and make rain.”

“Or could they be eye lids to the sun,” she thoughtfully said. I looked on and smiled.

“They’re the chariots of spirits who look at us from above,” I said.

“And the marshmallows we eat after we die and live among the stars,” she told me.

“They’re Jesus’ bed!” I exclaimed with a child-like grin.

“They’re the gates of the heavens,” she added. “And the pathway is through the stars.”

Looking at her, I said  “you have to be soft, or they won’t let you in.” She put a finger to her lips.

“They’re mama and papa,” she said to me.
“And everyone we ever once knew” I told her.
“And someday sweet baby sister, it will be me and you.”