Living in the Cloud

Seeing them, from beyond my monitor, my life's in the Cloud

A blur moved past, in the near foreground beyond the window I can almost touch from my desk. It moved unhurried, passing through the slats of the railing around the porch. I pulled my computer glasses down on my nose so I could discern what kind of mammal (probably a dog, I thought) might be trotting nonchalantly across our yard.

It was a red fox—the first we’ve seen here. And I probably would not have noticed it had I not already been pleasantly distracted by the shifting clouds out that same window, on this cold-but-calm before the storm. The mid-level clouds are banded with regular corrugations perpendicular to the direction of the winds, the winds in advance of an approaching weather system—from the northwest.

I think these are altocumulus undulatus, and we’ve had some variation on the theme all morning so that I can’t get much done for cloud-watching, not altogether different from bird watching. I’m hoping the fox goes back the way he came, and Ann can see it this time.

The rain is still a few hours away. We need it. I need it, so I can wiggle up the T-posts around last year’s quickie garden and make space for this year’s more permanent—if no more polished plot—and a place to carry my man-stick.

What’s a man-stick, you may ask. It is any similarly shaped object that a man carries outdoors as an excuse to be under the clouds and sky. It might be a bat or racquet; a shotgun; a fishing pole; or a hoe. A guy’s gotta have a purpose other than just ogling the sky and breathing the air and being there.

So if you see me standing in the garden, leaning on a shovel or shuffle hoe, I’ll tell you I’m gardening. I’m really just waiting on a raven; or a fox; or the next wave of clouds shaped like porpoises or feathers. But of course, I will deny it.