Clouds roll across the sky, many and varied. A troupe of them rush up the mountain, swift and unwelcome. They chill my exposed skin as they settle on the mountain, isolating me from the rest of the world. Julia and I put our sunglasses up on our foreheads and frown at the sudden change in weather. We were out on our balcony to soak up the rare monsoon sun, armed with living room chairs, a bowl of cornflakes, and a book. Soon enough, though, the settled clouds fade as capriciously as they came, and the sun once again shines.
As I scan the skyline, I can see mountains of potential precipitation, gliding smoothly across the sky like giants, solid-seeming monoliths that, in their moving, blot out the sun with their mass of moisture. The weather here is as hard to anticipate as a teenager's mood. Below me, I hear the traffic of the mountain, the honks and screeches of vehicles and the squeals of school children walking home. Slowly, the sky brightens and the light intensifies as the sun makes a welcome, worshipped appearance from the shade of a cloud giant. I sit in my chair and sip chai from a ceramic cup. Warmed internally by the spicy beverage and externally by the sunlight, I am reminded of how easy it is to feel betrayed by the clouds, and again, how easy it is to feel brightened and warmed by the sun. I am reminded of how blessed I am. These miraculous opportunities and beautiful experiences can sometimes be overshadowed by clouds. I must remember that the sun is always present and ready to warm me with a reminder.
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