It’s 75 degrees at 10 a.m. Monday morning, as I begin to write this blog. At this same moment, it’s 19 degrees in Chicago. I'm aware of this because the weather there has been a topic of conversation for me in the past couple of days. My mother lives just outside Chicago and told me all about the snow and sleet and basically nasty conditions she’s been watching outside her window. "And I suppose it’s sunny and warm there?" she asked me with more than a bit of envy. I took a certain perverse pleasure in answering, "Yep! It’s pretty much ideal weather right now!"
And so it is. Late Sunday afternoon, I enjoyed a long, slow drive north on A1A heading toward a friend’s place. With my convertible top down. It was 80 degrees. The sidewalks on the Fort Lauderdale beach were packed, with the cafes and bars buzzing and music playing everywhere. Though I couldn’t tell for sure who were tourists and who weren’t, I suspected that lots of the people were from out of town, already escaping foul weather. It seemed too busy for a mostly local crowd.
I parked my car for about 20 minutes by the wave wall at the north end of the beach, listening to some New Age music as I sat and looked out at the ocean and the sky. Runners and walkers passed in front of me. Overhead, the clear blue was turning gradually violet, bordered by a billowy bank of rose-white clouds that hung above the water’s surface. The sea was calm and just a light wind drifted in from the east. I watched three large cruise ships, one after the other, leaving Port Everglades, bound for who knows where. That made me think again about all the tourists streaming into town and about all the people who constantly come and go from the Fort Lauderdale area to soak up the sunshine. As I focused on one ship nearing the horizon, port side facing me, I noticed something. Looming above that ship, towering ten times its size, was a cloud formation. An unusual cloud formation – shaped very much like the ship below it. The bow, the stern, even the smokestack were obvious. Thin layers of clouds looked like the various decks. Once I recognized the similarity, it was striking. A ship of clouds, sailing through the twilight sky. Wherever it was going, you had to wonder if the weather would be as nice there as it was here.
And so it is. Late Sunday afternoon, I enjoyed a long, slow drive north on A1A heading toward a friend’s place. With my convertible top down. It was 80 degrees. The sidewalks on the Fort Lauderdale beach were packed, with the cafes and bars buzzing and music playing everywhere. Though I couldn’t tell for sure who were tourists and who weren’t, I suspected that lots of the people were from out of town, already escaping foul weather. It seemed too busy for a mostly local crowd.
I parked my car for about 20 minutes by the wave wall at the north end of the beach, listening to some New Age music as I sat and looked out at the ocean and the sky. Runners and walkers passed in front of me. Overhead, the clear blue was turning gradually violet, bordered by a billowy bank of rose-white clouds that hung above the water’s surface. The sea was calm and just a light wind drifted in from the east. I watched three large cruise ships, one after the other, leaving Port Everglades, bound for who knows where. That made me think again about all the tourists streaming into town and about all the people who constantly come and go from the Fort Lauderdale area to soak up the sunshine. As I focused on one ship nearing the horizon, port side facing me, I noticed something. Looming above that ship, towering ten times its size, was a cloud formation. An unusual cloud formation – shaped very much like the ship below it. The bow, the stern, even the smokestack were obvious. Thin layers of clouds looked like the various decks. Once I recognized the similarity, it was striking. A ship of clouds, sailing through the twilight sky. Wherever it was going, you had to wonder if the weather would be as nice there as it was here.


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