Free Will

(The last stanza, by itself, is a haiku)

Clouds interrupt uniform blueness in my field of vision,
	claiming … territory?
With dark grey bases
	and white bodies.
		Their sun-illuminated tops
are sharply defined,
	like the gray tree-covered ridges below.

Floating mountains, 
	snow-capped,
		potent.
Coming between me and the sun,
	intermittently,
		at will.

Clouds don't know the wind,
don't know thermodynamics.
They think that they're free.
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