Inspired by a poem that my sister wrote in the 1990's during her undergrad studies in Montreal.

Clouds
I sent out the greyhounds of my heart.
The ones I named,
When they were curled grey about the moon,
Jaws open, already racing.

Sometimes I feel them raining over Peru
Or shuffling their frantic tongues between the ribs of the ocean
And I send them my whistle, that only they can hear.

I lean out over the raining street at night
My window-straining arms,
My wet forehead and lips,
I whisper to them:

“Search for me.
Smell every corner of the world with your nebulous tongues
And find for me the place where I can lay my head
Like a peaceful stone,
And touch my lips to water,
And be still,”

By Janie MacLeod

Acrylic on canvas