The Ten Clouds

In the time before time, a single cloud encircled the world.

The Great Cloud sent rain and snow. The Great Cloud trembled with thunder and flashed with lightning. The Great Cloud hung endless and low, sleeping. Sometimes in dreaming, the Great Cloud would yawn, and in the parting the people of the world below would look up and see the light of the golden sun and the hidden blue sky.

The people never knew when the rain or snow would come, and so their crops were ruined. The people never knew when a clap of thunder or bolt of lightning would fall upon their heads, and so many a ship was sunk. The people never knew how long the cloud's sleep would last, its yawns few and far between. And so, the sun and the sky became a legend, passed down from generation to generation.

The people longed for a clue to understand the Great Cloud. They recorded each rain, each snow, each thunder roll, lightning streak, and yawn in their Book of Time. Wise men looked for a pattern in the dates and numbers. They found none. Wise women watched the gray expanse of the sky for signs. They saw none. And for ten generations the Great Cloud sent the weather it pleased and slept deeply without a single yawn.

The people cursed the Great Cloud bitterly for its silent uncertainty. In return for their insults, the Great Cloud ignored them entirely. The people kept their eyes cast downward. The legend of the golden sun and the bright blue sky was all but forgotten.

***

One day, in the tenth generation under the Great Cloud, a child prepared their small fishing boat for sailing.

The child loved nothing more than the Great Ocean. They loved the motion of the waves; it never made them sick or tired as it did others. They loved the sea creatures, so much more vibrant and swift than the farm animals. They loved the salty smell of the wind. They felt certain the wind must love the Great Ocean too for they were always together.

The child did not love the Great Cloud.

Not so long ago a flood ruined their family's farm. For the first time in their life, the child saw their father look up and curse the unrelenting sky. Now the child and their father fished instead of farming. The Great Cloud had betrayed them, so the child gave their allegiance to the Great Ocean instead with a devotion that was complete, simple, and beautiful.

The sail started auspiciously. The child un-figure-eighted the thick prickly rope from its cleat, hoisted the single sail, and pushed off from the dock. The child often sailed alone. Their father was one of those who frequently got seasick, but the rocking waves lifted the child's spirits. The east wind was crisp and tangy with brine. They were skimming along at a nice clip to a fishing spot they knew well.

But suddenly, without the least warning, the wind disappeared. The sail hung its head. This had never happened to the child before. To the west, the Great Cloud was changing color from its usual gray to a deep indigo, darker even than the water. Leaning over the side of the boat, the child looked into the water, searching for some solace or protection, but the face of the Great Ocean was indifferent. The surface was a mirror that only reflected the child's face between the sea and sky.

For the first time on the Great Ocean, the child was afraid.

Now a different wind came howling unmercifully from the west. A drop of rain, two drops of rain, then ten, fifteen, fifteen hundred - warm and heavy and soaking the child to the bone. Blinking furiously, scrambling to one side and then the other, the shallow little boat was filling quickly up with water. The thunder felt like it was inside their chest and the lightning behind their eyes. And still the wind wailed and still the rain drilled and when the sail was ripped away the child, desperate, and screamed,

"GREAT CLOUD, HAVE MERCY!"

And the wind was silent. And the rain held. And the waves stilled.

The Great Cloud was listening.

Amazed, the child kept their face turned up to the dark sky. "Great Cloud, thank you for hearing me," they began, remembering what their mother used to say, Politeness is a door.

But what to say now? Though the child was afraid, they decided on another thing their mother had taught them: the truth.

"Great Cloud you once brought a great rain, and the flood destroyed my family's farm." A single wave rose up and sloshed against the boat in protest, but the child knew what they said was true and this gave them the courage to continue.

"Great Cloud, my father and I accepted this and became fishers instead. We catch only what we need to live. Now you bring another great storm to drown me. Why?"

The Great Cloud was moved by this simple question.

"Child, even I do not fully control the weather," it replied.

And this surprised the child. They had never considered the weather as separate from the Great Cloud above. "I didn't know that," the child admitted. "But the people still curse you for it."

"Yes, they do," the Great Cloud agreed, "but not you."

The child considered this. They had asked for help and for an explanation and both had been given.

The child forgave the Great Cloud, and yearned for others to forgive the Great Cloud too.

"Great Cloud, I'm sorry the people curse you. They don't understand. They're afraid. You don't control the weather, but do you know when it will come?"

"I do see the weather coming on the horizon, yes, a little time before you do and there is a little bit I can control when I desire." And the Great Cloud kept the wind and water quiet while the child sat in the little flooded boat pondering.

The child thought hard. How could the people and the Great Cloud understand each other? What if there was a way to tell the people what was coming, prepare them, without Great Cloud having to speak to everyone all the time?

"Great Cloud, for ten generations you have stretched above us, silent. The people curse you, but they do not want you gone. They do not ask for golden sun and blue sky all the time. What they want are signs. Some way to tell what weather will come and when. Is this possible?"

And the fairness of the ask moved the Great Cloud again. The Great Cloud was ready for forgiveness too.

Smiling on this brave child it said, "You speak well for your people, and what you ask is fair. I will no longer be one Great Cloud stretching the whole world over. I will make myself into ten clouds for the ten generations that have suffered my silence. Each cloud will forecast the coming weather. All you will need to do is look to me in the sky and you will know."

The child, thrilled, jumped to their feet. "Great Cloud, thank you! How the people will thank you! But the ten clouds, how will we know them and what they mean?"

And there over the Great Ocean, the Great Cloud parted in ten ways. Against the bright blue sky and the golden rays of the sun it taught the child the rhyme the people still carry with them and teach their children to this day:

Drifting above the earth and sea

the high clouds there are three:

The Cirrus cloud is feather-thin

and soars above the rest

Cirrostratus veil of heaven

a lustrous halo blest

Cirrocumulus' fishy scales

a change of winds attest

*

Clouds between the high and low the

middling are a duo:

Altocumulus grayish white

foretells a pleasant day

While Altostratus grayish blue

means rain is on its way

*

In their threatening gloomy shrouds

three more are the low clouds:

The Nimbostratus dark as night,

the rain at last is here

Stratocumulus dark below

in masses will appear

The Stratus cloud a sheet that's stretched

horizon to frontier

*

The tall clouds they are summer's own

two they are, and well known:

Cumulonimbus the behem-

oth feasts on humid air

Finally comes bright Cumulus,

puffy, fluffy, and fair!