At that place the boy halted, as his eyes flitted to the sky, where a cat-shaped fluffy cloud was pursuing in great leaps the mouse, skedaddling pell-mell along the blue sky. The boy sat up aton the grass, staring at the trail of clouds, rushing, with great speed, across the windless sky. Three pig-shaped clouds galloped, hopping and hipping, to the horizon, followed by little bears, somersaulting in the raspberry tangles, replaced then by a fox, pursuing its tail.
The boy rubbed his eyes to shake off illusion. Obviously, it was a mirage, roused by abnormal heat, the haze blurring the shimmering sky. With closed eyes the boy went on with his story.
In the early childhood, I had some friends of mine, but after they had also heard about the “Stone Men of the Orkney”, they never showed up again…
When the boy opened his eyes and raised his head and looked at the sky again, he saw seven little milky-white cloud goatlings, butting each other. Stunned, he stared open-mouthed at the fairytale play, performed above his head, when –
“Robin, come get your lunch! It’s served!” an old woman's voice called from out the house behind the stadium.