I believe in the power of Sky -- not the vodka, you college students, you -- walking back from SAC this afternoon, I found myself staring up and watching the striated clouds jog by, with a quick clip to their pace. The big bunch of them, these strings of suspended moisture, seemed very purposed, very driven; yet, my scientific mind kept reminding me that they were driven, in a sense. The wind was pushing them forward (or backwards?) to some unknown destination where the air will be so saturated, the temperature right, the pressure primed, and the clouds will fall away. Some days later, they'll gather together again as old droplet friends, share stories of the rocks they met and the streams they traveled, the fish they brushed up against, and the sprigs of green they covered as dew; until one day, when their circle of condensate-life intersects with my human one, and I'll gently brush a drop off my cheek. Maybe this time, though, I'll think for a few seconds about my chance encounter with the same molecules that may also have touched a crying mother, a wandering child, my ancestors...or perhaps they once fell upon the wagging tale of my dog Sandi. Inevitably, though, I'll brush away the droplet with my fingertips and let it fall to the ground to be reabsorbed into its circle, while some part of it absorbed into mine through my permeable skin. And this is how the weave of my life is quilted, from rain and sun and wind.