When asked to paint the sky, a child will often as not present a page of blue. Perhaps a cottonball cloud. That's because we humans look for patterns, motifs that reassure us the world is spinning as it should. But this late afternoon thunderstorm churned violent updrafts and downdrafts and raised a ruckus over Blue Mountain that made me wonder if we really needed rain that badly. And then, the rollicking clouds split to reveal a golden sunset that was not only breathtaking, but a repetition of the peak silhouetted below and of the parting clouds above. And suddenly, all was right with the world and my place in it.