The Consciousness of Clouds

1. hello virgo

The skies over Port Andrews are straight out of a storybook.

Nicknamed "Heaven's Gate" it has always been here, this secret little hamlet for the lucky travellers who need to gas up on the way to the next city. It's like a mirage. Whatever meteorologic combination is going on here (and I'm not a weather girl, so don't quote me on it) it has created a scenic anomaly that doesn't exist anywhere else. Cotton candy clouds. Bright, searing sunsets. Milky starlight. Basically it looks like unicorns shit all over the stratosphere. Two left turns and a four-way stop is all you need to get from the highway to the aesthetic capital of Canada. Lavender fields be damned. But until recently, no one knew our secret.

I preferred it that way.

But nothing stays hidden for long. Especially not when this hot new currency called social media has come to suck out our eyeballs and tuck them gently up our own asses.  Now it's only two left turns, a four-way stop, and a charged up iPhone to get your next dose of attention-seeking dopamine! And, boy, does Port Andrews serve that shit up on a platter. Meet Me at Heaven's Gate #blessed.

So that's how Port Andrews went from forgotten, quaint township to a quivering tourist trap hanging on to the edge of relevance.

People are getting married here now. They're coming for staycations from the city and asking for oat milk in their lattes. We don't have oat milk or lattes so don't even bother asking. The dairy farmers next door will shank you. People are taking selfies on the shoreline where I used to chase seagulls. We're have merch now. Stupid t-shirts and bucket hats in tie-dyed colours to match the skies. It's really has gone too far.

People are also getting engaged. And my family's hot air balloon business is booming from it. I suppose that's the positive. I can't imagine there are enough couples alive to keep this going but it doesn't seem to stop. They're coming in droves. It's been so good my father keeps trying to get me to come back and work for him. But that's complicated too.

I guess I should backtrack and start with me, shouldn't I?

(ahem)

My name is Virgo. Yes, like the sign. Yes I am also technically a virgo. No, I don't like it and please don't ask me about zodiac shit, I genuinely could not care less. Blame my mother (more on her later)

For me (Virgo Wright, the one and only) Port Andrews is another patch of dirt to stomp on. My dirt patch. I born and raised here and no matter how many urban 'Best Of' listicles this town makes, it's still the worst place on earth. Heaven's gate or not, Port Andrew's is a cage. And before you start asking omg why don't you just leave!? I don't need to be therapized by a pastel Instagram square. This is one of those psychological barriers you can't really explain. Maybe we'll get into that later too.

Actually, I know we will. That is the whole point of this isn't it?

Well, not to give away all the oat milk before the... grain...(?) this all starts and ends with a cloud named Cloud. (Yes, that is their name. I'll get to it, I promise)

Regardless of Cloud. My cloud. The skies are not my friend. No matter how #blessed they might seem to some people, it acts like a misshapen lid on the plastic container that is my life. I've done one too many cycles in the existential dishwasher to fit anywhere properly. I live in this container like leftovers. Leftovers don't care about sunsets or selfies. They're just here until they're eaten or thrown out. And that's what it feels like living in Port Andrew's.

I look up as though she can hear me. Hello Virgo. There isn't much else to look at in Port Andrew's so sometimes I can't help myself. Hello Sky. She is a bold, impenetrable blue today. No clouds at all like thickly-poured primary paint. Makes sense. The sun is just a ball of yellow in the centre. A dollop off someone's paint brush. I have to shield my eyes, it's so bright.

I am waiting for Cloud. They've also gone off somewhere and it's like the sky is taunting me for it. Yes, we'll definitely get into all that later but right now I don't want to talk about it. I just want to sulk.

The good thing is the sky doesn't care about me either so it's at least we have a mutual understanding. I am but a crusty crumb miles below her. I prefer it that way. She's much too busy beaming that globulous cerulean face at all the twee out-of-towners anyways. They paid good money to be here. They need it more than me. But they'll all get bored of it eventually. The tourists. Everybody gets bored. Everybody moves on. Even clouds.

I'm looking up again. She looms over me, shutting me in.

Prove me wrong you big blue bitch. I dare you.