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After a long, steady spring of blue skies and gentle blossoms, we've had tumultuous rainstorms and clouds tumbling everywhere. I love it. Each afternoon storm takes down the day's heat and liquefies light that paints the air itself with gold.

It's a beautiful sight. Sometimes my daughter calls me up to her room to see the clouds through her window, which faces west. Even when she was a new baby, she would watch the clouds while she lay in my arms at her meal times and wave her little arms to try to catch the dancing limbs. As she grew, we'd rearrange the furniture and sit in different places to find the just-right places to take in the light. She has a poet's soul.

Though she's a busy girl now, she's taught me well to take a look around. Most often, I'm on my own doing it though. When I do, I recall the baby who used to wave at the trees and made me look.

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