Fragility of water

Small dark clouds hang over the city against a rust-tinged evening sky. Their lack of willingness to move gives one the impression that they are parachuters suspended forever in mid-fall, patiently watching the streaming flow of headlights far below. Frozen in time and doomed forever to perch on air, does time appear to stop for them as well? Do things proceed as usual for these flying men, or does everything move at great speed beneath them? They have transformed themselves into mere silhouettes, dancing motionlessly in the sunset. How long will they stay and dance on air for me? Ah, a gentle breeze comes and they dissipate before my eyes.