clouds

The clouds promised to return. Some interaction, even though the people involved may wish otherwise, can not go on forever, nothing can for that matter. There has to be a pause, a periodic or final one, for the cycle to repeat. The clouds, have to go away, it is in their nature to do so, they knew what they were doing, they knew it is a part of the routine, the dry parched land alas did not.
Was not the summer long, the sun cruel, the dry winds unforgiving ? When all its children, whom it had nourished green and bountiful, suffered, how it wished it could provide them some care, some consolation, some relief as it had always done. But, he had to be the helpless migrant worker without work, who could only watch his kids writhe in hunger and pain. Did anyone, save the touring clouds and the migratory nights, understand the heat within its bosom and heat from the tyrant sun?
Now even, the clouds are going away. But where?
'To some other fortunate land?' or 'Did they actually dry up themselves?' or as they say 'to the sea again'.
Maybe it is normal - this transience, this changing nature of everything. Even it had changed a lot. It had become harder and dryer. Is it age?
It remembered the warm scent of the day when they met for the first time and looked with longing to the last tranche of clouds recede past the horizon.