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A gift arrived upon the Cloud, shortly afore Christmas, out of the blue, that lightened said blue to a shining brightness. It arrived in a long, huge, nay, humongous tube, and was thought to be a staff or perhaps totem of sorts (potentially a very rude one that would have the neighbours agog considering the sender), but no, ’twas and indeed is something else, something very special that Esme has had framed, and which hangs from the Cloud’s rafter’s in front of her as she transmits her wordage out to the blogosphere and beyond.

It is a piece of art, an original design, one which has upon it 130 photographs of clouds taken over the period of a year by an actual Professor of Clouds from a faraway land; all but one of these photographs was taken by his good self (the other by his sister) and as these cloudy photos were taken it began to occur to him that maybe it might be a nice thing for Esmeralda who lived upon a Cloud to see how the other clouds moved and formed across the span of a year, so he collected them all, made them into a giant work of art and added a quote from the book Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell at the top, knowing she loved said book and managing to pick the quote that brought Sonmi, Esme’s previous incarnation into play too, and thus where the Cloud began it’s journey this time.

So here it be, all 153cm x 91cm of it –  or in reasonable measurements  – five foot by three foot . . .  Esme’s Cloud Atlas.

An’ yaysome, she cogged well howzit was smart an’ truesome such kindness an’ Esme did bawl like a babbit (tho no nappymind), an’ held clasp tight to Sonmi — she who was first –  an’ memry said minded an’ gave her a prescient that was spesh, an’ real for a Cloud, an’ true, truesome was this, as were an’ be her thanks to Swarn, The Professor of Great Clouds from the Land of Good Grief.

Thank you dear Swarn <3. I shall not forget your kindness and wild bold craziness at taking the gamble, for it didn’t matter to you if it were forever kept in a huge tube in some corner, hidden in the cellar/attic, or lifted on high and framed with a particularly nice bit of wood, (sir), and that too is rather special, and I feel honoured for the time and thought that went into all this and feel it makes so much of that which has appeared upon these pages a success beyond anything imagined, reaching out to people who have read the words and taken them to their beings (keeping all said words safe on pain of death of course), so extra thanks for that too.

Now some will howl and rent their hair (I hope they make a good profit) wanting to know just how Swarn got hold of the wonderfully kept secret that is the address of Esme upon her Cloud, for many have pleaded, enticed, begged, cajoled, swindled, inveigle, killed (not killed) threatened and onwards to glean said information, yet never has Esme relinquished it, so how, how did this happen, how could this possibly in a trillion years ever occur?!!

The answer is – she was drunk when he asked.

Such is the way of the known and unknown universe that Esmeralda Cloud is Empress of.

bows and blows a kiss x

 

 

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