Prologue
A lazy fog, perhaps the laziest, hovered over the Amayan Mountains like a bandage, hiding and healing the scorched scars left from last year’s wildfire. For one whole year, this fog stayed put. And within that year, the forest surrounding the mountains remained still and hushed with a longing quiet.
The townsfolk, at first, marveled with curious gazes at the unmoving spectacle, even hiring artists to paint the phenomenon. Headlines shouted Amazing Amayan Clouds. Scientists baffled and argued and squinted and awed for answers. Tourists in rain hats and waterproof mascara shuffled in from all over the world to take a peek at the record breaking fog. And the townsfolk continued to whisper and wonder.
“What do you suppose it means?”
“How enchanting! It’s like a fairytale!”
“It’s looks like it’s sleeping the way it moves up and down, almost…huh, like it’s breathing.”
“Is it alive, then?”
“Will it stay?”
That particular wonder, the one of something new and interesting and unexpected, eventually faded into everyday grumbles, which so often happens with great wonders.
“Another day, another fog.”
“Will the sun ever shine on those mountains again?”
“Late again—the fog causes the worst kind of traffic by Bucking Trail.”
“What do you suppose it means?”
“This fog always makes me sleepy.”
However, nearly a year later, something extraordinary happened. The fog quite surprisingly began to stretch beyond the mountains one spring day, and the townsfolk began their whispers and wonder once more. Something special, something marvelous certainly had caused this fog that covered the mountain like a statue to finally shift and wake with a rumble like a hibernating bear.
Something special, indeed.
On the far side of town, a sound echoed, one the fog knew deep down in its wispy soul. It was this sound that urged the fog onwards, to shudder awake and finally stretch its tired tendrils. The misty clouds followed the sound, sweeping over the whispering town nestled in the valley beyond the mountains, swirling through the flower meadow and Bucking Trail until the fog found the source of that all too familiar sound.
A small boy, perhaps almost one year old, stood in the middle of a grassy runway with bare feet squished in the mud. Holding his stuffed giraffe in one hand and the other pointing at the sky, the little boy with a curious grin studied the foggy clouds rushing towards him. Some might have been frightened by this approach, a whole sky narrowing in, but not this small boy. He was a brave boy, as most are from the start. And so as the fog grew into a rain cloud, rolling to meet the boy on the runway with an old wish1 whirled in their winds, he stood there fascinated.
The small boy unfolded his tiny hand to meet the clouds reaching out for him. It was as if the sky recognized him; it spoke to him in rumbled thunders and whispered secrets in the wind like an old friend. It was then that the Amayan Mountain clouds decided to stay just beyond the mountains, never straying too far from the small boy with that achingly familiar laugh and a blue eyed gaze that sparkled like the sea on a bright summer’s day.
And so began the small boy’s love of the sky.
This marks the end of the beginning of Charlie in the Clouds. And I’m so excited (nervous) to finally share with you this story I can’t stop thinking and talking and writing about. Thank you so much for reading and encouraging me through the process. Chapter one resumes seven years later in the same (less daunting) mountain town with the same smiley curious boy, Sonny. I hope you enjoy Sonny’s journey to a certain kind of freedom and peace one can only experience through flight.
Charlie in the Clouds is written exclusively for Daughter Dear readers. Readership is currently free.
If this story resonated with you or has earned your added affection, please consider supporting by:
Continuing to read, and I’ll keep trying to earn your readership.
Sharing with friends you think would like this sort of thing.
Saying hello - after all, the point of these stories is to connect with you.
Buying A Coffee. A one time donation of $3.
Thank you for being a Daughter Dear reader. It means so much to little ole me that you take valuable time out of your beautiful life to spend with me and these stories. I hope you find delight in the simple things today.
All the lovely things, JH
See Chapter Five. Wishes are powerful things, are they not? Fueled with a desperate hope and unwavering love. It’s no wonder the sky behaved so oddly.