Each gathers clouds in separate edges of sky. Heat and frigidness spar and clouds find difficulty in committment. The battle is inevitable and repetitive. A battle of nonsense.
There are rocks existing in the woods which manage to stay hidden under barren branches. Reluctantly, they remain neutral over the fickle desires of the sky overhead. The rocks are sometimes cold. Other times they are hot.
Occasionally, they are absolutely perfect and ignore the nonsense overhead.
If you listen closely, you can hear the whispering laughter in the pregnant branches in between.
You can feel the warmth.