Rather, I am speaking of my failure to look. Michael Longley ends his poem "Out There" with these lines: "I should have spent my life/Listening to the waves." My thought today was: "I should have spent my life looking at the clouds."
I once lived in a place where the sun set into the Indian Ocean. To the west, there was nothing but water, sky, and clouds. In terms of grandeur, nearly every evening was the Grand Canyon of Cloudland.
But much less can be more than enough. Today, for instance: a "high-builded cloud" (to borrow from Philip Larkin) in a powder blue sky moved first through the white-blossomed branches of a cherry tree and then onward through the creamy-blossomed branches of a magnolia tree.
William Brown, "Carlisle Canal Basin" (c. 1823)
Wanton with long delay the gay spring leaping cometh;
The blackthorn starreth now his bough on the eve of May:
All day in the sweet box-tree the bee for pleasure hummeth:
The cuckoo sends afloat his note on the air all day.
Now dewy nights again and rain in gentle shower
At root of tree and flower have quenched the winter's drouth.
On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower
In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzling south.
Robert Bridges, The Shorter Poems (1891).
Samuel Bough, "Cricket Match at Edenside, Carlisle" (c. 1844)
Spring goeth all in white,
Crowned with milk-white may:
In fleecy flocks of light
O'er heaven the white clouds stray:
White butterflies in the air;
White daisies prank the ground:
The cherry and hoary pear
Scatter their snow around.
Robert Bridges, Ibid.
The poem is untitled. The OED defines "prank" (line 6) as "to adorn; to make colorful; to brighten up with."
Francis Dodd, "Ely" (1926)