Yes, it WOULD be clouds that so candidly, even kindly, manage it in the end: to say more with fewer words. Making it appear simple, even ordinary, they expand because they condense. They are born and then all they do is tell stories, on and on and on, with brevity. This is why we see them as objects, yet traverse them in large metal capsules as mere reduced visibility; this is why the untrained hand might not even feel them if trailing, magically, through the sky one day. “How’s your cloud sensitivity?” we might ask potential lovers, just to see what they say. “Fly with me, baby,” is a good response.