Faces in the clouds

As you grow up, you get used to things that seemed to be fantastic when you were still a toddler. You used to have this formidable imagination which made you believe there exist such things as dwarfs, fairies or even monsters in your closet - or, in my case, under my bed. You don't really know anything that lies in between beautiful and ugly, interesting and extremely boring. It's all black or white, there's nothing in between, and you still haven't heard a word about relativizing. And by the way, why would you? You're still young, wild and unpredictable, as you should!
 

Somehow, though, some things might change - even quite a lot - while you don't really get used to it. No, I'm not referring to my fading belief in dwarfs, fairies and monsters. I'm actually referring to the way in which the perspective of some things changes. I don't like it, but well, it happens every now and then, and I'd better get used to it. I've fought a considerable amount of years to find the grey zone in between the black and white extremes. It hasn't been easy, and I'm still not entirely sure if I've achieved that goal, although I can compare myself against some friends and family members and see that there actually IS a difference!

However, being in my thirties, I experience that things can change dramatically and that I don't get used to it. Like the thing I have with seeing faces in the clouds. When I was a child, and even still in my teens, I used to see those incredibly detailed dwarf faces in the clouds. I don't know if there's any reliable connection between me believing in dwarfs and seeing dwarf faces in the clouds, but to be honest, I don't think so. There has to be another reason. Still, it could also be animal faces, beautiful and extremely detailed animal faces, especially monkeys and sharp-toothed crocodiles - don't know why, but it's a fact.

Lately, however, when I lift my eyes up to the sky, all the clouds turn in extremely uncanny faces: faces of the dead, it seems, with big, hollow eyes, staring at me, their mouths in a twitch, as if they are screaming. I don't know what's happened to the rich beauty of the imagination I once had, but obviously, it's gone, completely and irrevocably gone. And it seems there's nothing I can do about it. I used to think that it would just be like that because I got confronted with death in a number of occasions during the past year. Sometimes, death was close, in other cases, death just happened. Anyway, I'm kind of worried about it, but I don't know if I should be. I may see this as a bad sign, but I thought I once promised to suppress superstition, so I'd better do something about it. In the meantime, I hardly dare to look up at the sky, because no matter how many clouds I see, the faces of the dead always come back at me. And they get at me, and there's nothing I can do about it. Or so it feels...