What is it about clouds that makes us get lost in them? Sure, there's the whole that one looks like a puppy and that one looks like an evil axe-murderer clown thing. And there's the fact that clouds draw your eyes up from the screen or the page in front of your nose (or the to-do list bouncing around in your pre-frontal cortex) and make you consider the larger, much larger, picture. Clouds are, after all, but curtains drawn over the portal to the cosmos.
We channel our inner farmers' almanac to read the coming weather in the skies - wispy streaks of cirrus, billowing altocumulus that hint at a building thunderstorm, the towering thunderhead of cumulonimbus that leaves no doubt. We can read the future in the clouds. Or at least whether or not to bring an umbrella tomorrow.
And even more, we can read the past. It's hard not to consider that this is the same sky - the same clouds - that the dinosaurs gazed at idly as they chewed their palm fronds, contemplating that the cloud over there looks an awful lot like an evil axe-murderer clown.
Let's hear it for the water cycle.