Today an unsocial puff drifts by and prompts my reflection of the sky, that vast ocean of ozone on which clouds sail like ships. Vessels of threatening thunder-carriers and wispy wanderers command our gaze. Some float like Lone Rangers while others form a fleet that blankets the blue above in a haze. In creation I see Creator; in the icon, the Infinite; in the clouds, Christ. The earth oft rejects her offerings on high; dams break and mud slides and people gasp, “Why?” Why didn’t you come last week, when we cried? Why can’t you comply? Your own self, deny?”   We hide from the tears that gush from her…