During the day in the Tropics, the Sun beats down on the vast expanse of the outreaching Atlantic while a continual, easy, endless, and sometimes imperceptible breeze sweeps aimlessly over its chopping surface. As this occurs, water molecules by the hundreds of quadrillion (10¹⁵ [That’s 1 and 15 zeros]) or perhaps even hundreds of quintillion (10¹⁸). are indiscernibly lifted up thousands of feet into the air. Slowly, ever slowly, as these water molecules reach the higher and cooler atmosphere, they coalesce in clouds and, as we poor mortals scurry about benignly in our daily lives down below with such laid back things as sailing, they grow tall, fat, angry, and menacing. At their tops, the Sun casts a bright and blaring face, while down below, they are a dark cobalt blue. At first, they may seem to curse at use with their low rolling rumble of thunder. Far out in the distance down below, in the darkest parts wispy mists seem to dance about back and forth. As we watch them and anticipate, they flash their quick and sharp white forks of anger to the surface. After a few seconds, they make mean reciprocating pronouncements. As we watch them slow advance in our direction, greater anticipation sets in and…, sometime they go away or move on by…, and sometime…, yes quiet often they sweep over us and… and it’s run for cover. Whether to humiliate or to humble use, their towering presence is most dramatic and yet eloquent. Yet, in all this the slowly rising three quarter moon quietly looks on.