Breathing Between Clouds

The sky and ocean have blurred into one atmospheric mystery, and the fragrance of kelp and fish in atomized salt water lingers without moving.  There is no breeze, no motion, only living things exhaling delicate puffs of moisture, invisible and indiscrete.  The very ocean itself has exhaled into the air and the clouds have descended to the sea's surface where they hesitate to ascend again.  It is all a sigh.  

If it were twilight now, lights would form haloes and glow in a shrouded softness.  This is the in between, the lingering dreams from the now-gone night, where light and water and air have become one another.  This meteorologic formlessness is a slumber, a pause between one moment and the next where the shapeless murk of daylight mist is indistinguishable from midnight cloud.

It is reality and unreality blended in a visibly imagined incoherence.  What is a cloud but liminal?