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Shelf cloud anvil cloud8/23/2023 ![]() We scorn fair-weather friends and freeze out rivals. Corporations alternate between brainstorming and blue-sky thinking. Bad stock market reports are introduced with a few bars of “Stormy Weather,” even though rainmakers can improve those numbers. Bosses thunder at us and ruin our sunny disposition. We use it as a metaphor for our mind, our moods, our luck. Yet weather is not remote: It touches roughly $1.3 trillion of the U.S. Life seems so insulated-we travel in metal enclosures, tell Alexa to climate-control our house, move from garage to hermetically sealed office tower and back again. Even the names of the clouds would be a start. I want to be able to look up at the sky and know something. The minute the weather forecast begins, I perk up like a terrier spotting a squirrel, listen with furrowed brow, give up and let the data wash over me, then ask my husband or phone an hour later, “What’s the forecast again?” Now I know that I would fall through and land in a treetop soaking wet, because a single cloud can hold a ton of moisture (literally, a ton), divided into minuscule droplets of water or ice. In my carefree youth (I am not sure it was ever carefree, but it was less busy, at least) I would lie in the grass and stare up at clouds, imagining them as fantastic creatures and wondering what it would be like to fall asleep on one the way the mattress ads promised. Nope, I just wanted to learn about clouds. No way was I ever going to be sufficiently observant, grounded, and methodical to be of use to the National Weather Service. I should have worn a trench coat to the stormspotting seminar I was there under deep cover. ![]() (Image by Patricia Alexandre via Pixabay)
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