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Then the weather-wise know there are two kinds of clouds, rain-clouds and wind-clouds, and that the latter are always the most portentous. In summer they are black as night; they look as if they would blot out the very earth. They raise a great dust, and set things flying and slamming for a moment, and that is all. They are the veritable wind-bags of Æolus.
"But still my heart has wings," "Gypsy wind-clouds," "And if my dreamings ne'er come true ... I'll set my heart at rest." He mused over them. His heart had wings to soar high with his soul in the ecstasy of his new-found love. And if his dreaming never came true, could he set his heart at rest?
I confess I was appalled when I cast my eye upon the title of the manuscript, "Cirri and Nebulae." Oh! oh! I said, that will never do. People don't know what Cirri are, at least not one out of fifty readers. "Wind-Clouds and Star-Drifts" will do better than that. Anything you like, he answered, what difference does it make how you christen a foundling?
By and by the rain ceased, but there was no moon, and impenetrable wind-clouds still hid the stars.
"I've got to take a higher level, or a lower," he thought. "Something's wrong here, that's certain!" But as he shot the biplane sharply upward, hoping to find a calmer lane, a glance at the sky showed trouble impending. Over the gray background of wind-clouds, a fine-shredded drive was beginning to scud. The whole east had grown black.
The sky also is flecked with rounded little wind-clouds, whose undersides are alternately grey or orange as they pass over the cultivated land or desert rock, whose colour they partially reflect.
Even as he rose above the forest-level, his experienced eye saw possible trouble in the wind-clouds banked to eastward and in the fall of the barometer.
Groping for a word, she pushed aside her writing and stared out at the sallow frozen landscape framed by the window at which she sat. The sleet had ceased, and hollows of sunless blue showed through the driving wind-clouds. A hard sky and a hard ground frost-bound ringing earth under rigid ice-mailed trees.
"The brambled cares of everyday, The tiny humdrum things, May bind my feet when they would stray, But still my heart has wings, While red geraniums are bloomed against my window-glass, And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass.
I confess I was appalled when I cast my eye upon the title of the manuscript, "Cirri and Nebulae." Oh! oh! I said, that will never do. People don't know what Cirri are, at least not one out of fifty readers. "Wind-Clouds and Star-Drifts" will do better than that. Anything you like, he answered, what difference does it make how you christen a foundling?
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