Photos by Richard Bristol
They come in thick bands, narrow strips, wisps, pale pinks and menacing gray, but all summer they come. Some days I feel closed in by clouds, as if I could reach up and rearrange them. But the sun cannot break through them.
Some clouds bring lashing winds. As I collect downed branches, the clouds scuttle by.
Thick, heavy clouds muddle my mind. A little sunshine might add some clarity. Back-to-back days of clouds cause me to hunker down and turn inward. And what I find is “the brain within its groove,” just as Emily Dickinson described in her poem.
And what I need now is a new groove.
Several summers ago, my husband bemoaned too many days of cloudless blue skies – it meant no rain. A drought followed. Clouds that produce no rain unsettle the parched soul. This summer, we have had weeks of clouds and plenty of rain.
So, while we celebrated that the nearby Farmington River was high, and the reservoirs were full, we were hankering for some sunshine. We got our wish. And with the sunshine came record heat in five record-breaking waves.
In the Midwest, where I grew up, farmers knew clouds. They knew a cirrus from a cumulus; they knew which clouds promised rain, and which didn’t. The dark stratus is where they would put their money. They were good students of clouds, forever scanning the skies. Their crops and livelihoods depended on it.
And is there anything more thrilling than a summer thunderstorm? The house of my childhood had a large porch, clad in a metal roof, and to hear the rain amplified on the metal roof was a thrill. My mother would gather her five children and we would sit on the porch and listen to the rain.
The mood of the day changes with clouds.
There’s that heavy, still feeling that hangs in the air right before a thunderstorm. Clouds roiling overhead. Then hot air collides with cold air and the ground trembles with deafening thunder and lightning. After a cloudburst and a hard rain, the air is lighter, scrubbed clean.
For drama, go to my parent’s acreage in rural Nebraska in Cather country, about thirty miles west of Red Cloud. Just drop in, they won’t mind. Talk about the eye of the storm; they have some of the wildest weather I’ve ever seen.
You won’t be bored. Promise. Just look up.
So much to say about clouds. You could study them for a lifetime. See the faces of loved ones in them, revel in the promise of moisture that makes all life possible. There’s just not enough time.