I saw the promise of rains in these clouds. Within minutes they disappeared leaving the sky dry. But the skies are not dry; it is not even skies. There is only one sky. But I like to think of them as skies, as they change in colour while remaining static in shape. You cannot mould the skies, but you can paint them with clouds. I see the outline shape of a dog. Howling at the sun? And then I imagine it running after the caravan of cumulus, yelping over being left behind. Its tongue hanging out, it sprays the skies. Whitened froth makes the day more bright. I saw the promise of sunlight.