Their voices seem harsh to me. All at once making me want to laugh and weep at the familiarity. They sound like sun hitting corrugated iron, like a gunshot in the dark. I lower my own. Acutely aware of how they sound, I become aware of myself. The clouds march across the sky like giant ships on their way to invade a nation. I feel better when I am the smallest thing for miles. My heart beats slower when I am pressed to the earth by the enormity of my surroundings. When I am a speck between the horizon and the sky. I am reminded of another time where the clouds moved like water; when I breathed them in on my way to work. I log this time subconsciously. I mark ten hours behind.