“It’s time” announced papa as a gentle rumble crept over the train tracks.
“I’m scared! What’ll happen to you?” cried the youngling with a doleful look below.
“The wind has come to take me and scatter my essence across the land. Such is the way of life my child.”
The tracks began to shake; hum turned into roar. The youngling covered her eyes and whispered “Will I ever see you again?”
Papa nodded and faced the sun.
A resounding whoosh followed an eclipse.
When the child opened her eyes, papa was gone.
A single yellow petal fluttered against the wind.
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Old cartographers spoke of the cloud passage, a route that circumnavigated the globe across land, sea and air but would never remain fixed. Explorers could only follow the passage by chasing the cloud-train, a particular slow-moving stretch of clouds two hundred miles long and twenty miles wide that weaved through the sky. Many folks across the world had sketched portions of the train, trying to capture its majestic beauty across an effervescent terrain. However, none had rode it from beginning to end for it had neither. Thus, the passage was quite attractive to both the nomadic and the itinerant, those who wandered for a living and those who wanted to move on in life.