The smallest and most perfectly
individualized specimens present a richly modeled cumulous cloud rising
above the dark woods, about 11 A.M., swelling with a visible motion
straight up into the calm, sunny sky to a height of 12,000 to 14,000
feet above the sea, its white, pearly bosses relieved by gray and pale
purple shadows in the hollows, and showing outlines as keenly defined as
those of the glacier-polished domes. In less than an hour it attains
full development and stands poised in the blazing sunshine like some
colossal mountain, as beautiful in form and finish as if it were to
become a permanent addition to the landscape. Presently a thunderbolt
crashes through the crisp air, ringing like steel on steel, sharp and
clear, its startling detonation breaking into a spray of echoes against
the cliffs and canon walls. Then down comes a cataract of rain. The big
drops sift through the pine-needles, plash and patter on the granite
pavements, and pour down the sides of ridges and domes in a network of
gray, bubbling rills. In a few minutes the cloud withers to a mesh of
dim filaments and disappears, leaving the sky perfectly clear and
bright, every dust-particle wiped and washed out of it.
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