For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by clouds. No doubt this love was greatly enhanced by the fact that I grew up in the American Midwest, where some of the most spectacular cloud formations in the world are the daily norm. Hours upon hours of my childhood and teen years were devoted to lying on the ground or sitting on a high vantage point, watching everything from cotton puffs to monstrous storm cells move overhead.

Legion of Honor
It's wrapped in coastal winds and cypress trees,
  With lions guarding entrance to the court.
  Inside, they serve up tea and apricot tarts,
Between glass clad in mist from neighboring seas.
Degas' love of Parisian millinery
  Ripples among the walls of light and dark:
  Illuminated portraits, girls in sharp
Well-flowered, feathered hats in velvet sheen.
Around the corner, see a more ancient hall:
  An ibis-headed man in frozen gait,
Cartouche and hieroglyphics on a wall,

Snow,
Like a sacrilege to step upon it.
Snow,
Treading in the steps I came in.
Snow,
With such intricacy God made each tiny jewel.
Snow,
In little puffs God's peace expressed
Snow,
I wonder if Adam ever saw it.
Snow,
If so, he chose the most gentle of names to name it.
Snow,
Stop and listen and you'll hear the sound that silence makes,... and through the quiet you'll hear God whisper,"See this? It is my gift to you."
"Snow."