Once in a younger-years dreaming state I saw
great dark pillars, mountainous clouds from the window of an airplane
Grown high, endlessly high
from a puffy and senseless cumulus cloud
into dark towers that reached farther into the heavens than I could see from my airborne seat.
Ominous, foreboding, supernatural. Like the castle of Malificent. Floating fortresses of doom.
Dad called them thunderheads.
They were obviously full of villains, angry gods, lightening. And Thor.
Made harmless because when I was with my father nothing could ever hurt me.
Just to be sure, I put on the red cowboy hat Dad had bought for me at the airport.
The engines of the airplane droned on. My father patted my hand.
The towers became giant figurines in my mind. Powerless against my father.
If only he were here.
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