#high cloud

5 Centimetres Per Second by Tim Allen

Of sovran power, with awful ceremony

And trumpets sound throughout the host proclaim

A solemn council forthwith to be held

At Pandemonium, the high capital

Of Satan and his peers: their summons called

From every band and squared regiment

By place or choice the worthiest; they anon

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came

Attended: all access was thronged, the gates

And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall

(Though like a covered field, where champions bold

Wont ride in armed, and at the Soldan’s chair

Defied the best of Paynim chivalry

To mortal combat or career with Lance)

Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air,

The sky was darker now, with a purplish, greenish cast. The

color of a turning grape. But it still looked high, with worlds of air

under it. A gull crossed, very high, directly above me. Against the

sky it was whiter even than the sail had been. It passed clear across

all the sky I could see.