Minimal Clouds - Part I

The sky was filled with bare minimum clouds. A minute streak of white, much like a streak of paint accidentally spurted on a canvas, adorned the sky. But one could not miss the skillful hand of nature. It was a streak of revered order. It was as if the streak was meticulously draw by Picasso himself. But not everyone had either the time or the knack to notice these subtleties.
It was on this day that the fateful handglider was spotted. It moved gracefully over the heads of many reminding some the very smoothness with which a sharp scissors takes on new silk. It's speed was tough to gauge with not many clouds in the sky. But one could see that the glider was headed East, for it pursued with great interest the "Sun". While a nature photographer cursed it's appearence which led to a unfortunate sudden flight of what he affectionately referred to as his work of life, the villagers flocked and marvelled at the blot of red that supplemented the infinite blue.
Rising far above the ground, from an eagle's eye view; pun unintended, few birds bothered about the huge contraption that flew beside them. For the flock, it was just another big bird that seemed harmless. They soared, migrating gradually, like scale changes in an elaborate musical piece. The glider soared with its purpose unknown to everyone except the one man inside it.
What ill fate befell the man no one knows for the purpose he knew remained unhelpful to everyone including himself, for he was nothing more than a lifeless mass ironically having a flight of his life.