Clouds catapult over the mountains in a race to see how far they can get before their contingent of rain starts to seep. Swirling winds shake them up, creating an airborne assault course of pressure pits. Warmth begins to swell their size and create further imbalance as the sunset rays creep up from the horizon. The unified headlong race starts to break up reluctantly in random spasms as the dynamics change. They're forced to diversify and work around, even admire and accommodate the new throngs of colour that start to fire up through the gaps. Ultimately the race becomes null and void - but what does that matter when they have these visions to embrace?
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